Harry Potter and the Locked Door
by ForeverSirius77
Summary: A Year 7 tale. The Order struggles to overcome the loss of Dumbledore and the harsh sting of betrayal, while Lord Voldemort has continued to grow in power and strength, and Wizarding Britain is on the brink of collapsing into darkness. Full summary inside
1. Chapter I: Where Your Loyalties Lie

_Disclaimer__: Anything you recognise does not belong to me, however much I wish that it did. Instead, it all belongs to J. K. Rowling. However, anything you do not recognise does belong to me. _

_Summary: Harry Potter's sixth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry ended in a tragic event. A headmaster and well-respected wizard was killed by the very man in whom he had placed his trust. This story begins during the latter part of the Boy Who Lived's sixth year, and it will follow Harry, as well as the entire Wizarding World, through Harry's seventh year and the Second War. The Order of the Phoenix struggles to overcome the loss of their leader and the harsh sting of betrayal, while Lord Voldemort has continued to grow in power and strength, and Wizarding Britain is on the brink of collapsing into darkness. _

_Harry sets out on the path he chose, seeking the four Horcruxes that still remain in the world, and the story will culminate in the final and climactic battle between the forces of good and evil, where death, loss, betrayal, and the overwhelming strength of love and friendship abound. After so many years of terror and war, who will be victorious in the end -- Harry Potter . . . or Lord Voldemort?_

_Author's Note: (4 October 2005): Chapter I has officially been revised in light of Half-Blood Prince, and here is the updated version. Look for Chapter II sometime later this week (I hope). Now, I present for your enjoyment, a seventh-year tale, _Harry Potter and the Locked Door._  
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**Harry Potter and the Locked Door**

**By ForeverSirius77**

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**Chapter I: Where Your Loyalties Lie**

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The night of Friday, March 16th, 1997, was extremely cold. Little light covered the grass of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, making it nearly impossible for someone who did not know their way to make it to the castle doors. Of course, no one was outside on this frigid, cloudy night; no one, that is, except a lonely man, one whom had made this very journey many times in his adult life. Limping along and slightly favouring his left leg, this pale man with shoulder-length greasy, black hair was dressed in long, black robes. He was painfully making his way through the many dark and foreboding trees to the large front doors of the stone castle, the memory of where he had been still fresh in his mind's eye.

* * *

_Small amounts of light penetrated the heavy shadows of the large run-down room of the Riddle House. The sun had set several hours ago, and the half-full moon did not help to illuminate the dust-covered area. _

_Only four figures were in the silent room, and all were dressed in black, making it even more difficult to distinguish them from the shadows. Three of these darkly-robed figures stood before the fourth, their heads bowed low as the fourth glared at them with his scarlet gaze, a gaze that was burning intensely in a way that clearly showed his extreme displeasure at the trio assembled before him._

_"I set you three a task," the scarlet-eyed figure whispered. "It was a simple task to capture a single, teenage girl, and yet, you three still manage to fail me." A low and quiet laugh escaped the Dark Lord's mouth as he surveyed his trio of Death Eaters. These three were supposed to be his most skilled and powerful supporters, but they could not manage to kidnap one young and blood-traitorous witch. The idea of their appalling incompetence would be quite amusing in a way if it was not so imperative that he have the girl._

_One of the three figures stepped forward, though seeming somewhat hesitant as he moved closer to the Dark Lord. Still, the Dark Lord said nothing, and the figure, gaining a bit of confidence by taking his Master's silence for acceptance, spoke._

_"Forgive us, My Lord," he said, for the figure was indeed male, "but the girl was far better protected than our contact had previously told us she would be. Now that our information has been corrected, I am sure that the plan will succeed."_

_For a moment, no one spoke, and a horrible silence fell over the figures in the dark chamber. Even the wind, seemingly responding to the tense situation, ceased; the sound of a tree's branches scraping the nearby glass window suddenly stopped. Finally, the Dark Lord rose from the throne-like silver chair he had been occupying and calmly made his way forward to the trio of Death Eaters, stopping only when he was inches from the nearest figure, the one who had spoken._

_"I expected you to succeed the first time, Eridanus," the Dark Lord said, his voice almost deathly quiet and scarlet eyes burning into the black-robed Death Eater. "But you did not, and failure is not tolerated." A yew wand, thirteen-and-a-half inches in length, was slowly drawn forth from the deep inside pocket of the Dark Lord's long, black robe. As he pointed its tip at his follower, an evil grin briefly crossed his pale face._

"Crucio!" _he hissed. _

_Eridanus fell to his knees as the curse tore through his body. No scream passed his lips, though a slight whimper managed to escape his control. Neither of the other two figures made any movement to cease their fellow's punishment because they knew that that was the way of the Death Eaters. Also, they knew the same treatment was awaiting them as soon as the Dark Lord finished with Eridanus, for they were also supposed to have ensured the operation's success, but had failed._

_After only a few moments, the Dark Lord lowered his wand, leaving Eridanus, with blood flowing from a gash across his right cheek, kneeling on the dust-covered floor and gasping for air. He turned his scarlet eyes to face the other two remaining figures in the room._

_"Bella, Severus," he hissed. "I entrusted you both with the success of this mission as much as I did Eridanus. Therefore, do either of you have an explanation for your utter failure?" Though his eyes were no longer burning as intensely as before, the Dark Lord's barely-suppressed anger was still quite apparent in his voice. _

_Both Bellatrix Lestrange and Severus Snape had been Death Eaters for many years. They knew it was pointless to argue, pointless to try and give any reason or excuse for the plan's failure. No matter what either of them said, they would receive the same punishment as Eridanus._

_"No, Master." They responded simply and quietly, and, after a brief pause, the Dark Lord uttered the incantation._

"Crucio!"

_It could have been worse. Eridanus, Snape, and Bellatrix knew that fact for sure. Had the three of them been newer or lesser Death Eaters, they each surely would have been killed. Still, none of them would have asked to be hit with the Cruciatus Curse, which was enough of a punishment to deal with at the time._

_Once several hours had gone by, the exact number of which none of the tortured Death Eaters recalled, the Dark Lord lowered his wand once again, this time leaving three Death Eaters kneeling and bleeding at his feet. Turning around slowly, the Dark Lord headed back to his chair. As he sat back, his scarlet eyes glaring forward, he spoke to his followers, all of whom had managed to rise from the manor's floor._

_"I want that girl," he said. "Bring me the Weasley girl." As the three bowed low and turned toward the room's only exit, a single and plain-looking wooden door on the opposite side, the Dark Lord continued in a deathly whisper. "And do not fail again."_

_With that final threat, Eridanus, Bellatrix, and Snape headed to the exit. Once Bellatrix and Eridanus had left, the Dark Lord spoke again, stopping Snape in mid-step._

_"Wait a moment, Severus," he said. Snape froze, his right hand still on the wooden door, keeping it open, and turned slowly back around to face the Dark Lord. _

_"Yes, Master?" he said._

_"The boy," whispered the Dark Lord, rising from his silver throne and approaching the Hogwarts professor. "Is the Malfoy heir close to succeeding?"_

_Snape hesitated briefly before replying, but the hesitation was long enough for the Dark Lord to sense his reluctance to answer. That could only mean that the boy was close to failing. "I cannot say, My Lord. He will not tell me of his plans."_

_The Dark Lord simply nodded his head, somewhat in a motion of understanding. He knew the boy would not succeed; the boy was never meant to succeed. "I want Dumbledore dead, Severus," hissed the Dark Lord, his eyes radiating hatred and burning into the professor. "I want him dead by the end of this school term, and either Draco or you will accomplish this task." _

_Snape did not respond immediately, thinking the Dark Lord had more to say. When he did not continue, the Hogwarts professor gave a quiet and brief reply._

_"We will not fail you, My Lord."_

_"You had better not," hissed the Dark Lord. "You had better not." With a quick wave of his right hand, the Dark Lord dismissed Snape from the room. And, once he was alone again, the Dark Lord went to the large glass window and stared out at the dark night sky. Night's darkness was his sanctuary. The weather seemed to acknowledge the Dark Lord's horrible mood. Harsh, crisp wind picked up in intensity, sending the tree's branches scraping against the glass window once again. A giant roll of thunder crashed as a bright bolt of lightning flashed across the night sky, and though a storm seemed imminent, no rain fell._

_Meanwhile, Severus Snape exited the old Muggle manor and immediately encountered the crisp and bitingly-cold winds. He pulled his long, black cloak tighter around his shoulders and, as he Apparated away, Snape began the process of composing himself and closing his mind, for he knew it was imperative that Dumbledore not be able to realize his true loyalties and motives. At least, not until the time was right. The lone Hogwarts professor knew that both his and Draco's lives depended on that fact._

_He would not fail his true Master._

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Severus Snape was only a few feet from the large oak doors of Hogwarts when the doors opened, seemingly on their own. It was not until they had opened further that Snape saw the older man with long silver hair and a beard to match standing in the entrance hall. The new figure suddenly came sweeping out, running forward quickly to catch Snape before he fell upon the stone steps. Snape had thought he could make it to his chambers before he collapsed. Apparently, the Cruciatus Curse had done more damage than he had originally thought. The Death Eater was also not fully prepared to deal with the headmaster, resulting in his hesitancy as he moved forward. Fortunately, the headmaster took it for pain.

"How many times did he do it?" asked the headmaster in a voice barely louder than a whisper, his blue eyes seeming to radiate pity for the darkly-robed professor, an emotion that Snape detested. There was no need for Dumbledore to explain who _he_ was. Both men knew the answer already.

It was somewhere around four in the morning, and by this time, the two men had made it through the long deserted corridors and up the marble staircases to the hospital wing. Snape had originally tried to tell the headmaster that he would be fine and all he needed was some rest, but Dumbledore refused to listen, voicing his belief that the professor was injured far worse than he usually was, and that Madam Pomfrey should check for any internal damage. The professor did not argue for long, both because he was exhausted and because giving in to Dumbledore on this account would help to maintain the headmaster's trust in him.

Madam Pomfrey had come running toward Dumbledore when the two men arrived, hastily pulling a cardigan over her pale blue nightdress. She was, at this moment, down in the dungeons to retrieve the tray of potions that Snape had set out almost six hours ago when he felt the Dark Mark burn upon his left arm. Once the matron had exited the hospital wing, Snape turned to face Dumbledore, intending to answer the headmaster's question with a least a portion of the truth.

"I'm not sure, Albus," said Snape. "The first few curses were, according to him, because I was late. I told him the information he had requested, though, and either it wasn't enough, or one of the other Death Eaters had put him in a foul mood, because he started with the Cruciatus Curse again. My mind finally lost track after the first dozen blasts or so." Snape shut his eyes as a ragged breath tore at his lungs.

As soon as he began to cough up blood (which the injured professor had not anticipated), Madam Pomfrey came back into the room, her hands carrying the large silver tray, which was piled high with many potions in different colored vials of all shapes and sizes.

"Professor Snape!" exclaimed Madam Pomfrey. "Good lord, here, take this," she said as she handed a small red vial to him. Snape sat up as best as he could, reluctantly accepting the pitying assistance of Dumbledore, and swallowed the bitter-tasting potion in one, quick gulp. "Now, Severus, you really should stay in bed. Whatever you were doing has injured you horribly, and you have a fair amount of recovering to do," said Madam Pomfrey as she lifted the tray of potions off the bedside table, taking it back into her office.

Once Dumbledore was sure Madam Pomfrey had left her office and gone back to her sleeping chambers, he began to question Snape again. "All right, Severus," he said, "what happened this time?"

_If only you knew_, thought Snape. Unfortunately for the headmaster, though, Snape did have the strength to maintain his Occlumency shield. The potion he had just taken increased his mental strength even more, ensuring that, even if Dumbledore had tried, the headmaster would not be able to breach the Death Eater's defences.

"Eridanus and Bellatrix were there," said Snape. "The Dark Lord was angry with them for some reason, though I arrived too late to discover exactly why. All I could gather was that an operation they were supposed to be leading failed, though precisely what operation I do not know.

"When I arrived, the Dark Lord requested the information, and I gave it to him. Like I said, either it wasn't enough or he was still angry with Eridanus and Bellatrix, because the information did not please him as it should."

A brief pause followed Snape's explanation, during which neither man spoke and a heavy silence fell over the hospital wing. Dumbledore, however, did not allow the silence to go on as far as the Dark Lord would have. "Voldemort should not have expected you to know any more information than what you were supposed to report tonight," the headmaster whispered.

"I know, Albus," replied Snape. _Time to draw on a weakness_, he thought. "It's possible the Dark Lord is getting suspicious of my loyalties."

Dumbledore looked down at the man lying on the bed before him. One of the headmaster's many internal debates raged in his mind. _If Voldemort is beginning to suspect Severus_, a part of him whispered, _he would not reveal anything of value to him. It would be pointless to risk his life._ However, the other half of his mind shouted its arguments just as strongly. _What if Voldemort doesn't suspect Severus to that point? Dark plans and secrets can still be revealed._ This very battle, as well as many others, had been fought inside Dumbledore's mind since the beginning of the Second War, almost two years ago. It was nothing new to the headmaster.

"Severus, you –"

"Don't start, Albus," interrupted Snape, clutching at his chest as a fit of coughing tore at his lungs. _Time to play my best card_, he thought. "I knew the risks involved and I chose to go back for the Order. I am not going to quit . . . at least not yet."

Dumbledore sighed before he replied to the other professor's statement. "It is your choice, after all, Severus," he said. "But if the danger is becoming too great –"

"I'm staying in the game, Albus. I have to."

With a final look down at the beaten, but not quite broken, professor, Dumbledore nodded, the same pitying gaze that penetrated and aggravated the Death Eater shining in the headmaster's eyes. Dumbledore wearily exited the infirmary, his thoughts on the single man in the hospital bed.

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_Author's Note: This chapter still has a bit of the first version (the one written prior to HBP) in it, but a few things were changed drastically. As always, reviews are greatly appreciated. (Thanks in advance!)_

_--ForeverSirius77 _


	2. Chapter II: A Dark Triumph

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognise does not belong to me, however much I wish that it did. Instead, it all belongs to J. K. Rowling. However, anything you do not recognise does belong to me. _

_Summary: It has been around three months since Snape returned Hogwarts that spring night. The Wizarding World is in chaos, and darkness wins another victory. _

_Author's Note: As of 10 December 2005, this is the updated and better version of Chapter II, now being posted and approved by a beta at the Sugar Quill. (Thanks, PirateQueen, for being my beta.) Please note that this chapter is nothing like the first version, either. Chapter III is in the editing process, and should be up shortly. Also, this chapter has been rated PG-13, due to descriptions of violence and horror. Now, I present for your enjoyment, _"A Dark Triumph,"_ the second chapter of _Harry Potter and the Locked Door.

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**Harry Potter and the Locked Door**

**By ForeverSirius77  
**

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**Chapter II: A Dark Triumph**

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A little over three months had passed since Severus Snape came into Hogwarts on that cold and dreary night in mid-March, concealing numerous secrets from the headmaster. Since then, many things had changed in the Wizarding World, both at the esteemed school of magic and in the world at large. Albus Dumbledore, hailed as the greatest wizard in the world, the only person Lord Voldemort ever feared, was dead, killed by the very man he had claimed to trust so strongly.

Disagreements and fighting ran strong through the magical community's blood, with witches and wizards being quick to accuse others of betrayal. Strangers were distrusted, and family members turned against each other. The Ministry, though trying desperately to hold the world together, was slowly losing the battle to keep the order in the community. Panic and lack of trust ran far too rampant for the Minister to control, experienced Auror though he was, and the government was slowly, but surely, caving in upon itself.

Witches and wizards cried out to the Ministry for relief. They pleaded for someone, anyone, to do something to stop the chaos. Britain's Wizarding leaders and government officials were rarely seen in public, finding it much safer to keep themselves hidden from the desperate citizens. Everyone was desperately hoping things would get better soon.

But those hoping would be wrong. Things would only get worse, far worse, before they became any better.

On the first day of July, the darkness would strike. It would strike hard, and it would win.

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He had been locked in this small and filthy stone cell for over a year now. His usually smooth, platinum blond hair was tangled and speckled with dirt, and ragged and dirty grey robes clothed his body, very much unlike the elegant black ones he had worn in the Ministry raid. The Aurors had surely destroyed those. He had also lost a fair amount of weight during his year of imprisonment. The food and nourishment in the stone fortress was not exactly up to par. With a heavy sigh, Lucius Malfoy rose from his position on the straw-covered floor and monotonously made his way to stand below the only window that looked out from the prison and offered him a view besides that of mouldy stone.

The outlook from the window was not much, even on clear nights, which this one was definitely not. Heavy and dark grey clouds covered the summer night sky, obstructing any light that the near-full moon would surely have given off if it had the chance. Still, the strong winds provided both a fresh breeze and a far better smell than what the prison had to offer. A harsh storm seemed imminent, which helped to improve Lucius's sour mood a little. After so many days in his cell, Lucius had discovered the somewhat musical rhythm that came with the sound of the rain and sea waves pounding against the outside prison walls during a storm's fury. The other event that occurred while Lucius stood below the barred window produced both a feeling of happiness and fear in the Death Eater. The Mark on his left arm had given a slight twinge, a twinge which quickly turned into an almost burning pain. Pain that intense could only mean one thing.

The Dark Lord was near. He was coming to Azkaban.

----

A tall figure stood atop a hill on the far eastern shore of the grey ocean, serenely overlooking the distant and lonely island while the harsh winds whipped his long black robes around his thin frame. On this island stood a single structure – a fortress, really – a large stone fortress with walls stretching twenty meters into the air. It was said to be impenetrable, incapable of being invaded and defeated. Massive waves were already crashing against the stone building's outside walls, as if they wanted to push it down, but these waves would never be able to do any damage to it. The prison's wards would not allow it.

But powerful magic – his magic – could, and would, have the ability and the force needed to defeat the "impenetrable" fortress.

And he would be the one to do so.

Dementors stirred restlessly behind him as he continued to stare across the vast ocean waters at Azkaban. He knew they could already sense the emotions of the Aurors who were guarding his followers, the followers he had come here to free, and the soul-sucking creatures were finding it difficult to control their intense hunger.

"Master?" said the single figure standing to his left. The shorter woman was also dressed in black, causing her to blend into the night's shadows like the dark and evil creatures that they both were. Though the tall figure heard the woman speak, he did not answer right away, preferring to let the silence grow thick and heavy around them. He found it was far too much fun to see his followers sweat and hesitate as he remained silent. Their fear was extremely intoxicating.

"The time is upon us, Bella," he whispered, abruptly shifting his scarlet gaze from the distant island to the black-haired woman on his left. She raised her hooded head slightly, meeting his gaze like few others even dared to do. "Gather the other Death Eaters and Dementors. Tonight, we take Azkaban."

----

The night of July 1st was Dana Walsh's eighth time on guard duty in Azkaban. Since the Dementors had left over a year ago to join with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, the guarding of Azkaban's prisoners had fallen to the Auror Division of the Ministry.

_As if we don't already have enough to do,_ Dana thought to herself. Aurors were stretched extremely thin during these difficult and war-torn times. So thin, in fact, that only three or four of them could be spared to guard the thirty-plus prisoners that were currently being held in the Wizarding fortress. Guard duty was not a difficult or dangerous assignment, and usually, with all of the other spells and enchantments in place, three or four Aurors were all that was needed.

Tonight, however, would be different.

It was around 1:30 in the morning when things started to go wrong at the prison. All four guards – Dana Walsh, Michelle Branch, Roger Folan, and Juan Rodriguez, the husband of the famed and respected _Daily Prophet_ reporter, Josephina Rodriguez – were sitting around a bright and roaring fire in the central chamber, the only Apparition point in the entire prison. It was the best place for the Aurors to be stationed because the central chamber's Apparition point also worked as a security clearance, making it possible for only witches and wizards with the proper identifications to Apparate into Azkaban. Even if someone was able to get past all the other security spells and enchantments, they would still not be able to Apparate into the prison unless the proper identifications were presented. Never in the prison's entire history had this security measure been breached.

But tonight it would fail, both for the first and last time.

The four Aurors were casually sipping refreshments and discussing trivial things with each other – Dana and Michelle chatted about their respective relationships while Juan and Roger argued over the latest professional Quidditch matches, each claiming their teams were the best. Over the sound of their relaxed voices and laughter came a loud ringing, like an alarm bell, which was quickly followed by many shouts and cheers coming from the cell blocks. All four guards immediately jumped from their seats. Roger knocked the small table over, sending bottles crashing to the stone floor, as he reached for his cloak, in the pocket of which was his wand.

"What was that?" Michelle asked, her ten-inch willow wand held firmly in her right hand.

"I think it's the warning bell," said Juan, pulling his twelve-inch mahogany wand from the inside pocket of his scarlet robe as he cautiously made his way closer to the chamber's exit that led to the long row of cells. The shouting and cheering had abruptly ceased, though the alarm was still ringing incessantly.

"The bell's never gone off before," whispered Roger, jerking his blond-haired head around to stare at each one of his companions. "Could someone have breached the security?" No one responded immediately to Roger. Both Juan and Michelle, having reached the chamber's wooden door, were peering out into the long and dark stone corridor beyond. Oddly, nothing was amiss. Dana, her wand out, was in the process of performing a number of complicated spells specifically designed for Aurors to use to assess a situation.

Finally, Juan, turning from the doorway to face Dana and Roger, answered the latter's question, voicing for the first time what all four Aurors had initially thought when the alarm sounded, but none wanted to say aloud. "Though it would still be extremely difficult," the Spanish Auror sighed, "only one person could have the power required to breach the security of this prison."

"And he did."

Every other Auror in the room immediately turned to face Dana as she looked up from the results of her assessment. Dana's face was now pale, having lost its previous color, and her ice-blue eyes, though still fearful, were also hard and determined as she showed the results to her companions. Neither Roger, Juan, nor Michelle had the time or the chance to examine the complicated conclusions that Dana's spell work had produced. As soon as the Aurors had moved forward to look, the only door to the chamber was blown inward, hitting Michelle square in the chest and, after sending her flying, crashing on top of the smaller female Auror. Dana sought cover as Juan was also blown across the room with the force of the explosion. He quickly regained his footing, though, and made his way back over towards Dana and Roger, both of whom, with their wands out, were still near the fireplace, and had ducked behind the overturned black leather sofa for cover.

Thick dust obstructed the trio of Aurors' view of the doorway, preventing any of them from acting until they knew just who – or what – they were facing. It did not take very long for the dust, dense as it was, to clear. As soon as it did, however, all three Aurors were momentarily paralysed as they stared at the figures in the doorway.

Dana's results were confirmed as Lord Voldemort stood in the shattered doorway. But he was not alone. Numerous other black-robed figures surrounded their Dark Lord, behind them of which were the hundreds of soul-sucking creatures that had abandoned the prison in the first place. Though she tried to fight the dark creatures' effects, Dana soon realized that there were just far too many.

_"There was nothing more I could do, Ms. Walsh," said the Healer as he placed his hand on her left shoulder, giving it a slight and, what he obviously thought was, a reassuring squeeze. "I'm sorry, but your mother is gone." . . ._

_Her father came running towards her, terror on his exhausted face. "Your brother," he whispered, grabbing hold of Dana and drawing her close to him, almost like he was afraid she would leave. "They took him, Dana. . . . The Death Eaters took David." . . ._

_Dana felt the remains of her day's meals escape her mouth as she stared at the body of her younger brother. The mangled corpse was no longer recognizable as the sweet, ten-year-old boy it once was. It did not even look human._

_His curly brown hair, so much like her own, was stained a dark red as it stuck to his deathly pale face. Blood flowed from gashes lining every part of skin on the body, which lay in large puddles of the thick, crimson-colored life liquid that had seeped from the many wounds. The eyes were the only parts of the corpse left completely untouched. Dana could still see her brother in those light green eyes, now devoid of their past innocence, as they radiated in death the extreme terror and pain the boy surely encountered during the last days of his life. . . . _

Dana struggled to escape the dark memories plaguing her mind. She did not want to see her brother's dead body. She did not want to hear the anguish in her father's old voice as he wept over his lost wife and son. As the memories slowly dimmed in their intensity, Dana, attempting to distinguish the many blurry figures in the chamber, saw the silver light intrude into her vision. She was able to make out the single, bright Patronus as it ran across the room and into the mass of dark creatures. Unfortunately, there were just too many of the Dementors, and the Patronus quickly faltered and diminished into nothing.

After the Patronus vanished, everything in the central chamber seemed to be moving in slow motion. Time even felt like it had stopped for a brief moment. Dana tried to fight the Dementors' effects, but it was hopeless without the help of a Patronus, and she did not have the strength to cast the charm. There were just too many of the soul-sucking creatures. Distantly, she thought she heard screams coming from one of her companions, and by the level of the anguished voice, she was sure it was Juan.

Finally, the cold fog in her mind cleared, almost as abruptly as if the Dementors had all left. No sound reached the female Auror's ears and Dana hesitantly opened her ice-blue eyes, not even realizing she had shut them in the first place. After blinking several times, her vision was no longer blurry. Once she was able to see clearly, however, Dana immediately wished she had kept her eyes shut.

To her right, Roger lay slumped against the destroyed black leather sofa. A long stream of blood flowed from a deep gash that ran along the left side of his pale-skinned and youthful face. His shoulder-length blond hair draped over the gash, causing the blood to soak into the hair and give it a reddish tint, reminding Dana eerily of her younger brother.

Juan was not any better. In fact, some might even argue he was in worse shape than Roger. Her Spanish companion had apparently been thrown against the east wall – the wall that had been partly destroyed by the initial blast – and knocked out cold. He lay on his stomach, his right hand still tightly grasping his wand, and his left arm was twisted at an odd angle behind his back. Juan's head sat in a thick puddle of his own blood – all of which had come from his being thrown against the wall. Dana's friend's black hair covered his face, preventing the female Auror from noticing any cuts he might have. His horrible physical appearance, however, was not what worried Dana the most. That honour went to the figure standing above Juan.

Voldemort's scarlet eyes burned and an evil, yet pleased, grin crossed his pale features as he looked down at the unconscious body of Juan. With movements quicker than she would have thought he possessed, Voldemort reached one long-fingered hand down and, wrapping his cold fingers around her friend's neck, pulled Juan into a sitting position. The injured Auror gave a slight groan at the sudden physical movement as he struggled to return to consciousness. After trying and failing many times to regain his sight, Juan finally managed to open his dark brown eyes. When he did, it was to see a pair of slit-pupil scarlet eyes only inches from him. Dana felt her heart choke as she saw Juan struggle to break away from his captor. Voldemort, on the other hand, seemed to find Juan's feeble attempt amusing, for he only laughed at the injured Auror in his grasp. Still laughing, he waved his wand and conjured heavy iron shackles around Juan's wrists and ankles.

Once Juan was bound, another dark-robed figure appeared, walking in a way that clearly identified her as a female. She stood to Voldemort's left, and pushed her long, black hair from her face as she lowered her hood. Dana immediately recognized the woman as Bellatrix Lestrange. All of the Aurors knew about Lestrange. She was well-known as one of Lord Voldemort's most fanatical supporters.

"Take care of this Auror, Bella," hissed Voldemort as he removed his grip on Juan and focused his gaze on Bellatrix. "Choose any of the cells and secure him in it. Lucius and Narcissa will take care of the other two."

"What about the fourth, My Lord?" whispered Bellatrix, turning around to stare at the spot across the chamber where the heavy door had landed atop Michelle. _Oh, God,_ thought Dana as she followed the Death Eater's gaze to her friend.

"She's dead," said Voldemort. "The door's impact killed her immediately." With that said, Voldemort turned and exited the now-demolished chamber, leaving Bellatrix to deal with Juan. Bellatrix jerked Juan from the ground, making sure to repeatedly pull on the Auror's broken arm. With every pull, Juan emitted a gasp of pain, and the Death Eater grinned. She even giggled when the injured Auror screamed.

Dana was so absorbed in watching Bellatrix as the other witch tortured Juan that the female Auror did not notice the tall figure approaching her until she felt fingers wind through her long brown hair and pull her from her position on the ground. The figure jerked hard on her hair, causing Dana to gasp in pain as he forced her head up to stare into his cold, grey eyes. Lucius Malfoy smirked as Dana met his gaze. Raising his right hand, he backhanded her across the face, sending her falling to the ground once again. As his wife took her time conjuring a pair of iron shackles and binding them around Dana's wrists, Lucius continued to beat on Dana, whose position prevented her from fighting back. Blood finally appeared after several minutes, dripping from several of the cuts on Dana's lips and cheeks and onto the stone floor. When the elder Malfoy raised his hand to hit Dana again, Narcissa placed a pale and slender hand on her husband's shoulder.

"Not now, dear," she whispered into his ear. "You and the others can get revenge later." Lucius's face displayed no emotion as he listened to his wife, but he finally simply lowered his hand calmly. As the couple turned and headed toward Roger's slumped form, Dana took her chance.

Lucius and Narcissa had taken her wand when they came to secure her. However, there was still one wand that the Death Eaters did not have, and Dana could get. The Auror, whose sight was still spinning slightly, struggled over to where Roger's wand lay only a few feet from her. He had apparently lost it in the battle. She eventually managed to make it to the wand, though, with her hands bound tightly behind her back, it was extremely difficult to use. Finally, after several minutes of struggling, she succeeded in removing the bonds around her wrists and, after getting a better hold on the wand, was able to free her ankles. Once she was free, Dana froze in place for a brief moment, not daring to breathe as she checked to make sure none of the Death Eaters in the chamber had noticed her acts.

They had not. Bellatrix apparently had already left the chamber with Juan, and both Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy were too busy torturing and binding Roger to notice their first prisoner's escape. Taking a quiet and calming breath, Dana slowly rose from the floor, keeping Roger's wand pointed at the pair of Death Eaters in front of her. She only had to make it to the exit, and then, hopefully, she would be able to get off the island and get help. She could not Apparate because, even if she had the energy, Dana was sure that Voldemort had dismantled the Apparition point.

Dana was only three metres from the door when, unfortunately, her sight took that very moment to swim out of control. As her sight blurred, Dana stumbled over one of the firewhiskey bottles that had fallen from the table when Roger had reached for his wand before the battle. The sound of her foot kicking the bottle and it rolling across the stone floor was enough to make both Malfoys turn around.

Shooting all parts of her former plan from her mind, Dana shouted the first spell that she could think of. _"Expelliarmus!"_ The injured Auror's spell managed to disarm Narcissa, but Lucius maintained a grip on his wand, and with a quick wave, he sent Dana flying against the west wall. Blackness crept upon her vision, but she did not slip into unconsciousness before she felt Lucius backhand her again, this time even harder than before. Narcissa jerked Dana's arms behind her back, securing the wrists with burning hot chains, rather than the iron shackles. The pain that began to sear at her flesh made Dana scream in agony, and helped the blackness take over her mind. With her screams still ringing in her ears, the Auror quickly lost consciousness.

----

An ominous and heavy sadness fell over the witches and wizards of magical Britain with the rising of a blood-red sun the next morning. Owls of every breed flew from one end of the country to the other, all delivering the same horrifying news.

**HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED CLAIMS AZKABAN PRISON**

The bold, black headline glared out at every witch and wizard in the country from the front page of the _Daily Prophet_. Below the thick headline was a large picture of the previously impenetrable Wizarding prison. The Dark Mark glowed an eerie, bright green above the stone fortress, its eyes glaring out at the Wizarding World in victory.

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_Author's Note: I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Personally, I like it a lot more than I did the previous version of Chapter II. Also, stay tuned for Chapter III: _Friends and Nightmares_. Harry Potter is at the Dursleys' awaiting the arrival of his friends and, after seeing the chaos of the Wizarding World, he is ready to go in search of the Horcruxes._

_I would like to know what you think about, not only this chapter, but the entire story in general. Chapter III will be up soon, I promise. But, in the meantime, you can also go read my short one-shot titled,_ A Single Miscalculation, _about the one night that will always be remembered in the world of Harry Potter --- the night of 31 October 1981._

_--ForeverSirius77 _


	3. Chapter III: Friends and Nightmares

_Disclaimer__: Anything you recognize does not belong to me, however much I wish that it did. Instead, it all belongs to J. K. Rowling. However, anything you do not recognize does belong to me._

_Summary__: Harry Potter is at the Dursleys' awaiting the arrival of his friends. Seeing the chaos that the Wizarding World has been plunged into at Dumbledore's death, Harry is ready to go in search of the Horcruxes._

_Author's__ Note__: A big "Thank You" goes out to PirateQueen over at the Sugar Quill for being my beta on this. Now, for your enjoyment, I present _"Friends and Nightmares,"_ the third chapter of_ Harry Potter and the Locked Door.

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**Harry Potter and the Locked Door**

**By ForeverSirius77  
**

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******Chapter III: Friends and Nightmares**

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The weather all over Britain had been the same for the past several days. It seemed like a great and utter depression had fallen over all the citizens of the nation, both Muggle and Magical alike. Last summer had felt the same way, and every witch and wizard in the country knew the reason why. Unfortunately, the Dementors were not the only cause of the feelings of defeat that permeated the air.

_Daily Prophet_ headlines and pictures glared out in bold, black ink, while the articles below them detailed the terror that had gripped the Wizarding World, either crying out in anger, desperation, or sadness, and sometimes even a great mixture of all of the human emotions. The largest amounts of blame fell upon the Ministry of Magic and Minister Rufus Scrimgeour, but reporters had an amazing habit of and talent for finding fault with just about anybody.

While most of the Wizarding World stumbled around in the darkness of doubt and fear, there was one wizard who knew exactly what he needed to do. He was not precisely sure _how_ he was going to accomplish his task, just knew that it had to be accomplished. This single wizard had been awake for several hours and was barely visible on this ominous morning through an upper window in a house on Privet Drive, Number Four to be exact.

Harry Potter sat on the edge of his bed, his emerald green eyes focussed on the latest issue of the _Daily Prophet_ that had just arrived a few hours ago. The headline did not offer any great surprises to the almost seventeen-year-old wizard, for even though his scar had not caused him any pain in over a year, Harry knew Voldemort had done something the night before. These days it had become predictable. News of another attack came daily, but this time, the headline that jumped out from the page made the boy's insides twist. He hid his fear and anticipation well, but there was no denying it. Voldemort was gaining power.

**HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED CLAIMS AZKABAN PRISON**

_By Erin Dumose, Special Correspondent_

_The summer season has always been a time welcomed by many. Its warmer weather and school-free days have, in the past, been looked forward to with anticipation and excitement by families wishing to spend more time with one another, and in these dark times, being with one's family has become even more important._

_However, the joy and happiness of summers past was sapped from the season this year. This holiday has been tainted by massive death and sorrow in the Magical world._

_Last night, darkness claimed another victory._

_Witnesses report that at around 2:00 a.m., on the morning of 1 July 1997, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, along with a group of loyal followers, known as Death Eaters, as well as an army of Dementors, approached Azkaban prison. The impenetrable prison had been thought inescapable until the breakout of Sirius Black. (Black spent twelve years in the prison's high-security block before escaping in the early summer of 1993, and spawning one of the biggest manhunts in recent history. Now confirmed dead, Black has been found innocent of the crimes for which he had been imprisoned.)_

_According to official reports already released by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Azkaban apparently came under massive wand fire from these Dark wizards, including You-Know-Who. Reports also indicate the Dementors surrounded the island fortress and acted in the same manner as an anaconda – squeezing their ring formation tighter around the prison to prevent any escapes._

_Several witnesses gave their statements to both _Daily Prophet _reporters and Ministry Aurors._

_"It was . . . was like nothing I had ever seen before," said Charles Taylor, 45._

_"The sky was alight with many colours, resembling those Muggle firework light shows," stated Elizabeth Ramose, 37. "That's why I didn't dare try to get any closer."_

_Aurors have been stationed as guards at the prison since the Dementors' departure over a year ago. According to reliable sources from within the Ministry, Dana Walsh, 26; Roger Folan, 34; Michelle Branch, 25; and Juan Rodriguez, 31; were those assigned to the prison on July 1st. Details concerning their present state are unclear, but Ministry officials are fearing the worst._

_"At this point in the investigation, Branch, Folan, Rodriguez, and Walsh are presumed dead," stated an unidentified Ministry employee. "But their fate may be that they are still alive inside the prison, and enduring who-knows-what at the hands of You-Know-Who."_

_Statements made by witnesses report screams coming continuously from within the island fortress for several hours after the Dark army was first spotted. Though the need for help was apparently clear, there have been no reports of anyone coming to the Aurors' assistance._

_After a night filled with piercing screams and flashing lights, people awoke around midmorning to a blood-red sun, and the Dark Mark – a giant green skull with a snake protruding from its mouth – lighting up the midmorning sky above Azkaban. (Readers of the_ Daily Prophet _know this symbol to be that of the Dark Lord.)_

_Both Minister of Magic Rufus Scrimgeour and Gawain Robards, the Head of the Auror office, were unavailable for comment._

Disgusted, Harry threw the paper across his room, causing a loud _thump_ to sound as the paper hit a lamp, toppling it off his desk and sending it crashing to the dusty floor. He had barely been back from Hogwarts for two weeks, and the Wizarding World was already in a worse state than when he had left.

The chaos did not shock him, to be honest. Harry knew Voldemort would be far more willing to attack openly and without reservation now that Dumbledore was gone. He just did not think Voldemort would work as fast as he seemed to be doing. It had been little more than two weeks since Dumbledore had been murdered.

Harry rose from his bed, striding over to his trunk, which was still pretty much packed with all his clothes. He had yet to unpack for the summer, instead remaining perfectly content to live out of his trunk. _Only a few more days,_ Harry thought to himself. _I'll be out of here in only a few days._

In fact, had Dumbledore not wanted him to go back to his aunt and uncle at the end of the school year, Harry would not have bothered even returning in the first place. He knew he had to find the Horcruxes, and, with the state of the Wizarding World like it was, he had to destroy them quickly, before the Magical community fell into a state where there would be nothing left to save.

A tapping sound tore Harry's attention from his thoughts. He turned towards the window, where a small owl was fluttering around on the other side of the glass. Normally, he left the window open, but since Hedwig had returned from her hunting earlier than she usually did, he had decided to shut it last night before he drifted off to sleep. When the _Daily Prophet_ owl had delivered the morning's edition, Harry had opened the window to let it in but, though he could not remember doing so, he had obviously shut it after the owl had left. Grabbing a pair of faded blue jeans and a simple red T-shirt from his pile of clothes, Harry walked over to the window, lifting the latch to let Pigwidgeon in.

Ron's small owl zoomed into Harry's room, landing with a _thump_ that was very much like the sound of the morning's paper hitting the floor, on his unmade bed. Harry picked up the tiny and hyperactive owl, slowly untying the scroll from the bird's leg.

"Calm down, Pig," he said. The owl did not listen.

After much struggling, Harry managed to untie the scroll from the owl and, as Pig began to hover excitedly above the bedcovers, Harry unrolled Ron's letter and began to read.

_You are cordially invited to celebrate the marriage of William Weasley and Fleur Delacour on the eighth day of July in the year of 1997, at eleven o'clock in the morning. The wedding will take place at the childhood home of William Weasley. Lunch and refreshments will be served after the wedding._

_--- _

___Hey, Harry.  
_

___Hope this invitation makes you feel better because it allows you to leave the Dursleys' earlier. Bill and Fleur decided to move the wedding up; it wasn't supposed to take place until the middle of August. Mum's going crazy with trying to get the house ready._

___Anyway, Hermione's coming to The Burrow in a couple of days, and then we're coming to get you. We told you we would. I wish we could have just gone with you at the end of the school term, but Hermione wanted to spend some time with her parents, and The Burrow's too crazy to bring anyone into now, anyway. Before we go there, however, Hermione has_ insisted _that we go and pass our Apparition tests. This shouldn't be news to you; she told me she'd already written to you about it, sending you that article in the_ Evening Prophet_. __After that is done, Mum wants us back home ASAP, and not wandering around London and Diagon Alley. (The latest news has her a little freaked out, mind you.) Speaking of which, have you seen this morning's_Daily Prophet_article about Azkaban?_

___Back to the wedding. Everyone is here. Charlie came in from Romania, and both Fleur's mum and sister are here. A lot of the Order is coming to the wedding as well, including Remus, Tonks, Kingsley, and Moody._

___Dad's been working really hard at the Ministry, and Percy's still being a git. Both Fred and George are doing great in their joke shop; it's even expanded since last summer. Everyone's looking forward to seeing you again, especially Ginny._

___So, both Hermione and I will see you in a few days._

___--Ron_

Harry grinned when he had finished reading Ron's letter. Any reason to say goodbye sooner to the Dursleys for the final time was a good reason. He was also pretty sure the protection would still work; after all, he had left Privet Drive more than a month early before.

"Well," he said, turning to face his snowy white owl Hedwig, "at least I'm already packed." Before he left his room, Harry bent to pick up the lamp and paper from the floor. As he sat the objects back on his desk, his eyes fell upon the article Hermione had sent around ten days ago.

**APPARITION TESTING AGES ALTERED **

___By Marie Breeding, Special Correspondent_

___In a startling announcement earlier this afternoon, Wilma Reeds, the Head Apparition Instructor, issued a statement to reporters of a recent change in Ministry of Magic law._

___As of this day, 21 June 1997, any witch or wizard who will be of age on or before 3 September 1997, is eligible to take the test for their Apparition license. They do not have to wait until they turn seventeen. Another date will be set for those still not of age by 3 September._

___The new law has encountered both support and criticism from citizens._

___"I, for one, am pleased with the Ministry lowering the age," Christopher Littell, 47, told_ Daily Prophet___reporters. "Side-Along Apparition is too much of a hassle, and my son, Robert, is seventeen in four weeks."_

___"Well, I think the law change is irresponsible," Margaret Taylor, 62, said. "Seventeen is too young for these kids to be able to perform magic, but now we're going to let them Apparate at sixteen? It's not logical."_

___When reporters approached Wilma Reeds with questions, the Head Instructor's response was short, yet vague._

___"It is the Ministry's belief that sixteen is an acceptable age for Apparition," Reeds said. "During these times, it is especially easier on families if there are more members who can Apparate legally. Also, the Ministry is cutting back on the number of days they will offer Apparition testing, and so this change in the law will hopefully help to accommodate those who are prepared to take the test."_

___For those interested in the Apparition testing, 2 July will be the next testing date._

Below the article, Hermione had scribbled a quick note.

___Ron and I will be coming to get you so that the two of you can pass your tests. _

___--Hermione_

A grin crossed Harry's face as he thought of his two best friends' differing personalities. It was just like Hermione to find information about taking tests, even when she was not the one being tested, and complaining about having to take the tests was Ron in perfection. Placing the lamp and articles back on his single, small desk, Harry left his room.

Heading downstairs for breakfast, Harry heard the television broadcasting the morning's news, signalling that at least his aunt and uncle were already up.

". . . around 2:00 a.m. this morning," said the newscaster, a short, dark-skinned man with an obviously fake smile. "Although no one can say what type of celebration was taking place, many different colours were seen lighting up the sky. The largest concentration of these lights appeared to be coming from a distant island on the North Sea, however no one can say for sure.

"In other news, a triple homicide was discovered in the city of London yesterday. Mark Davis, a local restaurant owner, was found in his home with his wife Sasha and thirteen-year-old son Sean, by his brother Ryan. Police forces have revealed that there appeared to be no sign of a forced entry, nor did any harm appear to have been done to the Davis family. The cause of the deaths were not evident upon either Ryan Davis or the police's arrival at the residence, however, investigators are awaiting the post mortem reports. Numbers of these odd deaths have risen extensively in the past few years, completely stumping local law enforcement as to the causes. Medical experts even theorize about a previously undiscovered virus being the cause.

"And now, over to Lane Warner for the weather."

Harry tuned out the week's weather report, his mind still on the news about the homicide. Sean Davis was a third-year Ravenclaw at Hogwarts, and, though his father had been a wizard, his mother was a Muggle. Though Harry had never really talked to the shy, blond-haired boy, he had seen Sean around the school for the past two years, and with the boy's death, the number of people hurt by the Second War just continued to grow.

The television clicked off after Lane Warner had finished her weather report, and Harry's Uncle Vernon rose from the sofa and headed towards the table in the dining room, where Aunt Petunia had bacon, eggs, and sausages already on the table for breakfast. Just as Vernon Dursley sat down at the table, Harry entered the kitchen, followed closely by his cousin, Dudley, who had come pounding down the stairs and through the door.

Both Harry and Dudley sat down at their seats, with Dudley immediately reaching for a strip of bacon. Aunt Petunia came from the kitchen, and after she had taken her seat, the Dursleys began their Saturday breakfast, which every one of them looked forward to all week long.

"Eat up, Dudley," said Aunt Petunia as she piled the eggs and sausages high on her son's plate. "You can't compete well on an empty stomach."

"Yes," replied Uncle Vernon, "your mother and I want to see you win today, Dudley."

Harry had almost forgotten about Dudley's boxing match that day. It was something like the "Youngest or Oldest, Finalist, Champion or Something". He could not remember what exactly the title was that Dudley was competing for this time. Besides, the specifics were not important to him. What was important was that his aunt, uncle, and cousin would be gone for the entire day, and he would have the whole house to himself.

"While we're gone, boy," said Uncle Vernon, glaring his eyes at Harry, "you're to stay in your room and not mess with anything. Understand?"

"Yeah, fine," muttered Harry, returning his uncle's stare with a dead look of his own.

"And no leaving the house or communicating with your kind."

"Okay."

"And you're not to demonstrate anything of your abnormality."

"All right."

Uncle Vernon finally gave up, as he continued to get no further response out of his nephew. After the family had finished their breakfasts, Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley left the kitchen and headed out towards the car. Once he had heard the engine start and was sure that his relatives had left, Harry rose from the table, clearing the plates as he did so. He simply laid the pile of dishes in the sink, not bothering to clean them, and went back upstairs to his room.

The intense quiet of the Dursleys' house was unnerving to Harry. Usually, he could stand being alone in his room, even enjoying it many times before. But ever since Sirius's death over a year ago, the silence had become nearly unbearable. The feelings had only grown in strength after Dumbledore's death. Harry needed noise because without it, his mind had time to think, and when that happened, thoughts he would rather not dwell on invaded his mind.

It almost felt like he was constantly surrounded by a Dementor, only without the freezing cold feeling in the blood. When he was left alone in the silence, his thoughts would drift between being in the graveyard with Voldemort, battling Death Eaters and seeing Sirius die at the Department of Mysteries, and watching helplessly as Snape murdered Dumbledore. Those were thoughts he would rather avoid and so, as the silence grew thicker in the empty house and a cool breeze blew through his open window, Harry removed his glasses and collapsed on his bed. Having slept quite restlessly the previous night, he shut his eyes and quickly drifted off to sleep.

___Harry slowly opened his eyes, only to find himself sitting in an almost entirely dark room, the only light coming from a fire burning in a grate across the room. There was no sound in the chamber; not even a crackling noise came from the flames as they licked the logs. It did not feel right, and Harry could tell that things were far from okay._

___Cautiously, he stood up and, removing his wand from the back pocket of his jeans, slowly took a couple of steps forward, moving hesitantly in the direction of the fire. It was not until he got halfway between the fire and where he had started that Harry noticed that he was not alone and that there was another figure in the room._

___A single body lay in front of the fireplace, long, flaming-red hair spread around the pale face like a fan. The face glowed eerily as the bright orange flames flickered and distorted the shadows. Harry momentarily froze and stared at the small body as several thoughts entered his mind, none of them good. The body was not moving._

No, ___thought Harry as his mind flashed back to a similar scene four years ago._Please, no._Dropping his wand, he heard it clatter when it hit the stone floor as he ran the rest of the way and collapsed beside the limp body of Ginny Weasley._No,_Harry's mind screamed._This can't be true!_She looked like she was simply sleeping at first, but there was no use denying the truth. Once one got close enough to see her, the extensive damage, illuminated greatly by the burning fire, was clear._

___Ginny's beautiful face was hardly recognizable as the youthful witch that Harry remembered her by. Numerous cuts and bruises, all varying in their intensity, disfigured and discoloured her once-gorgeous face. There were several burns on her arms and hands, and a long, deep gash, from which was still flowing a great amount of blood, ran along her left shoulder, the dark liquid seeping out of the wound and staining the cold stone floor._

___Harry was shaking, and his sight began to blur as his green eyes filled with tears. He lifted his right hand, which was shaking so badly that he felt he would not have been able to hold anything in it, and hesitantly reached for Ginny's wrist, the slight hope that she was still alive burning in his heart. But before his fingers had scraped Ginny's skin, he knew the answer already. There was no pulse._

This wasn't supposed to happen, ___Harry thought, letting the tears finally fall from his eyes and stream down his cheeks._ You were supposed to be safe.

___"Ginny," he whispered slowly, bending down and, wrapping his arms around her, lifted Ginny's head from the cold stone. "Don't be dead, Ginny. Please wake up," muttered Harry as he held the youngest Weasley child close to him. He knew the plea was pointless, but he could not bear to accept the truth. Too many had died already, but Ginny was supposed to have lived._

___"She won't wake," hissed another voice from the doorway. Immediately recognizing the cold, harsh voice and familiar words, Harry jerked his head around. His emerald eyes glared at the pale face across the room, the previous sadness immediately replaced by the intense hatred that burned in him as he met the pair of scarlet eyes._

___"She will never wake," said Voldemort, a grin appearing across his face. And as Harry let out an animalistic howl of rage and intense grief, which reverberated around the large, dark chamber, Voldemort laughed a high, cold laugh, and slowly drew his wand from his robe, pointing its tip at the black-haired boy by the fire._

Harry jerked his eyes open and sat up suddenly in his bed, breathing harshly as the images of Ginny's tortured and dead body, as well as the sounds of Voldemort's cold laugh, slowly receded from the forefront of his mind, thankful that it was only a dream. As if the actual memories of what happened with Cedric, Sirius, and Dumbledore were not bad enough, he had to keep dreaming about the deaths of those he loved who were still alive. In just the past two weeks, this was the fifth time that Harry had dreamed of Ginny being killed, and her appearance continued getting more and more tragic with every dream.

Finally, his heart beat and breathing rate slowly managed to return to normal. Knowing it was pointless to try to get any more sleep, Harry sighed and reached for his glasses on the bedside table. As he placed them on his face and climbed from the bed, Harry heard the front doorbell ring, its sound echoing throughout the empty house. He glanced at the clock on his bedside table to see that only a couple of hours had passed since the Dursleys had left and he had fallen asleep in his room. It was far too early for his relatives to be home, and no one else should have been calling. All of the Dursleys' acquaintances knew that the family would be gone for the entire day.

The doorbell sounded once again, and Harry, the image and thought of Voldemort and Death Eaters still fresh in his mind, grabbed his wand from the small table next to his bed, and cautiously approached the window and peered down at the brick walkway below. As he caught the brief sight of a tall, redheaded boy and a brown-haired girl, the thought of Dark wizards vanished and Harry exhaled a deep sigh of relief. He grinned as he ran from his room and leapt down the staircase three steps at a time. Harry swung the Dursleys' front door wide open to let his two best friends into the house.

"Ron, Hermione," he said as the two Gryffindors entered. "What are you doing here?"

"We're here to get you, Harry," answered Hermione, smiling. Her brown hair was pulled back into a simple ponytail, and she was wearing a pair of dark jeans and a light blue top. "Ron was supposed to tell you we were coming," she said, wrapping her arms around Harry and pulling her friend into a hug, which Harry returned.

"I did," said Ron, and at the same time, Harry responded with, "He did, but his letter said in a few days. I wasn't expecting you both today."

Ron responded to Harry's statement this time. "Well, Hermione had told me she wasn't coming until the fourth," he said, shaking Harry's hand in greeting, "but she arrived at The Burrow today, so we decided to come early and surprise you."

Harry grinned. "It's a great surprise, and you two have really excellent timing. The Dursleys are out for the day, and they aren't supposed to be back until much later tonight." Harry shut the front door as the trio left the doorway.

"Well, actually," said Ron, "we don't need to stay here very long." The trio of friends began climbing the staircase to Harry's room. "Like I said in the letter, Mum's really been freaked out with the latest news, and if we stay out too long, she'll probably go completely crazy."

The friends reached the top of the staircase, and Harry replied, "That's fine. My stuff is still pretty much packed from the end of last year; it won't take long to throw the rest in the trunk, and I honestly don't want to stay in this house any longer than is absolutely necessary."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione entered the bedroom, and together, they finished throwing the rest of Harry's clothes and books that lined the floor back into his trunk. Once they were done packing, which only took a few minutes because Hermione decided to use magic to speed the process up, Harry slammed the top of his trunk down. Hermione gave her wand one final wave, and sent Harry's trunk and Hedwig's cage to The Burrow in the same way that Dumbledore had done when he had come to fetch Harry last year.

"Okay," she said, pocketing her wand once more, and turning to face both Harry and Ron, "I guess we're ready to go." Harry, Ron, and Hermione left the small bedroom and climbed back down the staircase. Together, the trio of friends exited Number Four, Privet Drive, and Harry, turning his head around, took one final look back on the house in which he had lived for over ten years of his life.

It was now around three o'clock in the afternoon, the sun burning brightly in the summer sky, and a cool breeze was blowing in the trees, sending the green-leaved branches swaying. The three teenagers headed towards the end of the street, walking in silence for a few moments. But the silence was eventually broken when Harry turned to Hermione and asked,

"How did you two get here if Ron doesn't have his Apparating license yet?"

"We Flooed into Arabella Figg's house," answered Ron. "Hermione didn't want to do things the_simple_way by breaking the rules and having us just Apparate to your house." Ron turned to stare at the seventeen-year-old witch, a grin on his face.

Hermione abruptly stopped walking and turned to glare at the tall, redheaded Weasley. "One, it's rude to simply Apparate into someone else's home," she said, placing her hands on her hips as she spoke. "Two, I didn't want Harry thinking we were Death Eaters or something. And ___three_," she said, her voice growing in volume, "if something had gone wrong, Ronald, you would be in a lot of trouble, and Harry would have had to wait even longer for us to come and get him. By doing it this way, nothing went wrong. And besides, your mother liked the idea of us using Floo powder rather than Apparition anyway."

When Hermione finally finished her tirade, Ron had his hands raised in mock surrender, the grin still on his face. It was not long before Hermione could no longer hold her own scowl and had a smile stretching her lips as well. The grins soon turned into laughter, and the trio of Gryffindors continued down the street towards Arabella Figg's house.

The sound of Hermione and Ron bickering, and later laughing about it, made Harry grin. If his friends could still argue over just about anything, it showed that things could still be normal, and that the world had not yet slipped so far into the heavy darkness that it was beyond saving. A simple thing like his friends playfully fighting with each other offered the Boy Who Lived hope. There was still a chance, and there were still reasons to fight.

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___Author's __Note__: All right, the story finally made it to Harry, and it will continue following Harry for the next couple of chapters, at least. Thanks for reading, and I hoped you enjoyed it. Please take the time to review and tell me what you think about this chapter, as this story is my first on-going fan fiction piece, and I'd really like to know your opinion. Also, stay tuned for Chapter IV: _Apparition___, in which Harry, Ron, and Hermione head to the Ministry of Magic in London, where the boys will take (and hopefully pass) their Apparition tests._

___--ForeverSirius77 _


	4. Chapter IV: Apparition

_Disclaimer__: Anything you recognize does not belong to me, however much I wish that it did. Instead, it all belongs to J. K. Rowling. However, anything you do not recognize does belong to me._

_Summary__: Harry has left the Dursleys' house for the final time, and has joined back up with his two best friends: Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. Together, the trio of Gryffindors are heading to London on their way to the Ministry of Magic so that the boys can take (and pass) their Apparition tests._

_Author's__ Note__: A big "Thank You" goes out to PirateQueen for being my beta, who helps correct my mistakes. Now, for your enjoyment, I present _"Apparition,"_ the fourth chapter of_ Harry Potter and the Locked Door.

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**Harry Potter and the Locked Door**

**By ForeverSirius77  
**

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**Chapter IV: Apparition**

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Harry, Ron, and Hermione finally arrived at the front door of Arabella Figg's house several minutes later. The topic of the trio's conversation had changed several times as they walked. It had begun with Apparition (Hermione continuously wanting to question both of her friends to make sure that they were fully prepared), and then headed into Bill and Fleur's wedding (Ron filling both Harry and Hermione in on the chaos of The Burrow). Currently, Hogwarts and its future was being discussed among the three friends.

"The _Daily Prophet_ was reporting last week that Hogwarts is reopening for the year," said Hermione, turning to look at Harry to judge his response. Harry gave no indication that the news surprised him in any way. Instead, he simply shrugged his shoulders, the only acknowledgement that he gave to Hermione that he had heard her. "It said the governors decided that the school was still safe enough for students to come," she continued, "and they have officially appointed Professor McGonagall as the new headmistress." The only reaction that Harry and Ron made at this news was a slight nod of their heads, and nothing more. Silence fell over the trio for a brief moment, until it was suddenly broken by a response.

"That's not really a surprise," muttered Harry. "I mean, McGonagall took over at the end of last year after . . ." He did not finish his statement. He didn't want to, and he thought that, even if he had wanted to speak of last year's tragic and horrible events, he didn't think that he could. Much in the same way it had been difficult for him to talk about Sirius last year, Harry found it hard to mention the night Dumbledore died, with his memory of that event on the Astronomy Tower burning blazingly in his mind, as well as to contribute to the conversation when it ended up straying to the late headmaster. Neither Ron nor Hermione pushed him to continue with his response. Both understood Harry's pain, even if they had not spent as much time in Dumbledore's company as Harry had. They had loved the kind, wise wizard very much, and it was immensely difficult for anyone who had known him to not love the old headmaster.

The conversation, which had fallen into silence upon reaching the topic of Dumbledore, now completely came to a halt when Harry, Ron, and Hermione knocked on the door in front of them, and Mrs. Figg opened it to let the trio inside the house. Once they were inside, the three friends abruptly came face to face with Arthur Weasley, who was sitting on the brown sofa in the musty living room and looked as if he had been waiting for them to arrive for some time now. Turning his slightly balding head around as the group of people entered the living room, Mr. Weasley stood from the sofa upon meeting Harry's eyes.

"Hello, Harry," he said, walking forward towards the trio of friends. "How's your summer been?"

"Okay, Mr. Weasley," Harry answered, even though his summer had been barely "okay". By now, that response was strictly a habit. As Mr. Weasley smiled knowingly and shook Harry's hand, Harry was briefly taken aback at just how different Ron's dad looked from the last time he had seen the older man, back at Dumbledore's funeral only a few weeks ago. Mr. Weasley looked thinner now, and he had definitely lost some more hair. There were thick, dark circles under his exhausted eyes, and the elder wizard looked as if he had slept very little in the past couple of weeks. Harry assumed Mr. Weasley's haggard appearance had to do with overwork at the Ministry, which was only bound to increase, especially after Voldemort's takeover of Azkaban.

"Well," said Mr. Weasley as he released Harry's hand and turned to face both Ron and Hermione as well. His mouth stretched into a smile, though the expression still appeared tired and strained. "Are you three ready to go?"

"Why are you here, Dad?" asked Ron as his father moved towards the fireplace on the opposite side of the room after the trio had nodded in reply to his question. "I thought Harry, Hermione, and I were just Flooing into the Ministry."

Mr. Weasley turned back towards his son, removing his glasses to rub at his exhausted eyes. "You are," he replied, "but with the way security is at the Ministry right now, it's far quicker if you three just Floo into the authorized fireplaces, rather than the visitor's entrance, and to do that, you'll need to be travelling with someone who has security clearance." At this, Mr. Weasley pulled a laminated card from an inside pocket of his dark blue robe, and showed his identification and security pass to the teenagers. "That being one reason," he said, replacing the cards in his pocket as he spoke, "and the other is that Molly wants everyone back home at The Burrow as soon as possible."

After they had said farewell to Mrs. Figg, thanking her for the use of her fireplace, Mr. Weasley, Ron, Hermione, and Harry each took a handful of the green Floo powder from a chipped and light-brown coloured, clay jar that sat atop the mantle. Stepping into the fireplace, the group Flooed to the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic in London.

It had been a little over a year since Harry had set foot in the building, and he had not been in any hurry to do so again. There were too many memories that plagued him with the Ministry. He could remember exactly what had happened in the Ministry of Magic over a year ago – how Sirius had fallen behind the veil and died, how Dumbledore and Voldemort had fought in the Atrium, and how Voldemort had tried to take possession of him.

Stepping out of the authorized fireplaces, Mr. Weasley, Ron, Harry, and Hermione tried to make their way over to the golden lifts on the opposite side of the room. As Harry's eyes locked on different parts of the Atrium, the memories of what had happened not long ago began to plague his mind even more. The walls were the same: all panelled in shiny, dark wood and inlaid with many gilded fireplaces, out of which appeared several witches and wizards. The dark-wood floor was still highly polished, and golden symbols moved and changed across the same peacock-blue ceiling. Numerous desks were scattered along the walls, and the Apparition points were surrounded by people.

The Ministry entrance was far more crowded than Harry remembered it ever being. Witches and wizards were tightly packed into the Atrium, lines from the Apparition points and exiting Floo fireplaces stretching all the way across the distance of the giant room. Other than the large increase of people, however, the Ministry of Magic looked almost the same as it had looked on that fateful night over a year ago, save for one very noticeable difference.

The Fountain of Magical Brethren, which had been destroyed by Dumbledore and Voldemort's battle, had yet to be repaired, and Harry doubted strongly that the Ministry even cared about repairing it at all at this time. Nothing had been put in the Fountain's place, either. There was just a large, empty space where it had previously stood.

As Harry gazed as the empty space, his mind returned suddenly to dwell on the events of that night, the memories as clear in his head as if he was witnessing everything through a Pensieve for a second time: Bellatrix's spell blasting the golden wizard's head off and sending it flying across the room; the centaur's arm, which was holding a bow, being fired to the other end of the Atrium by her Cruciatus Curse, and one of the goblin's ears quickly following it; the headless wizard jumping in between Voldemort and himself; the witch running at Bellatrix and pinning her to the floor; the goblin and house-elf running to the Floo fireplaces to summon help; and the centaur circling Dumbledore and Voldemort as the two wizards battled before one of Voldemort's curses shattered the centaur into hundreds of pieces.

_Don't think about it,_ Harry thought, shaking his head in a desperate move to clear the memories from his mind. The action worked, and the memories, though not completely disappearing, slowly receded from the forefront of his mind as he continued to walk on with Mr. Weasley, Hermione, and Ron.

They passed by the space where the Fountain had stood, the latter three doing so without giving the empty space a second glance and Harry purposefully focussing his gaze elsewhere, and pushed their way through the thick crowds to the lifts on the other side of the Atrium. They entered a lift that only had one other person in it, a young, brown-haired wizard, who could not be much older than seventeen, and who was carrying several rolls of parchment in his arms. The pile was so high that the man's face was barely visible over the many rolls. As the golden grilles slid shut with a _clang,_ the lift began to ascend and the cool, female voice soon sounded around the small area.

"Level seven, Department of Magical Games and Sports, incorporating the British and Irish Quidditch League Headquarters, Official Gobstones Club, and Ludicrous Patents Office." The doors opened, but as no one left the lift, and none of the many witches and wizards crowding the corridor beyond entered, the doors quickly shut again and ascended to the next level of the Ministry.

"Level six," the woman's voice said again, "Department of Magical Transport, incorporating the Floo Network Authority, Broom Regulatory Control, Portkey Office, and Apparition Test Centre."

"That's our level," said Mr. Weasley, and as the golden grilles slid open, he and the three friends got off of the lift. This floor looked just as run-down as the corridor where Mr. Weasley's old office used to be had looked. There were not as many people on this floor as there had been down in the Atrium; however, there was still a pretty good-sized line outside the door to the Apparition Test Centre.

Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Mr. Weasley joined the end of the long line. "Okay, you three," said Mr. Weasley, after taking a quick look up at the large group of people in front of them, "I need to go to the office, but you'll be fine here. Hermione," he said, turning to look at the young witch, "you can wait with Harry and Ron if you want."

"Of course," answered Hermione, nodding. "I want to wait."

Mr. Weasley nodded. "Well, Harry, Ron," he said, glancing at both of the teenagers as he spoke, "once you two have finished taking the test, the three of you can go back to the Atrium and either Apparate back to The Burrow or use the Floo Network. You won't need any security clearance since you're already within the Ministry.

"And don't forget, Ron, Harry, Hermione," continued Mr. Weasley, his voice taking on a more serious tone as he looked at each of the teenagers in turn. "Go _directly_ home after you're finished," he said, his voice expressing both the graveness and the importance of his words at the same time. "Do not go anywhere other than The Burrow. Understood?"

The three friends nodded their heads in assent, fully grasping the seriousness of Mr. Weasley's order. Times had become immensely worse in just the past couple of weeks, and nowhere was considered "safe" anymore, especially in the Wizarding World. Even the Muggle world was not immune to the darkness that seeped throughout the Magical locations of Great Britain, for attacks by both Dementors and Death Eaters had increased ten-fold within the past few weeks. They all knew that it was no longer very wise to wander around anywhere, whether it was morning, noon, or in the middle of the night.

"Okay, Mr. Weasley," replied Harry. "We will."

"Bye, Dad," said Ron at the same time as Hermione responded with, "Good-bye, Mr. Weasley." And as Arthur Weasley left the trio of friends in the line and headed back towards the lift, Ron, Harry, and Hermione huddled close together, glad for the time to talk about some more serious things that the trio had not mentioned after leaving the Dursleys' house.

After glancing around quickly and making sure that they were not being overheard, Harry began the conversation, talking about the first thing that came to his mind. "Did you two hear the news about Sean Davis?" asked Harry.

"You mean that shy boy in Ravenclaw?" whispered Hermione, and Harry nodded. "What happened to him?"

"I heard it on the Muggle news. He and his family were discovered in their home yesterday," replied Harry, lowering his voice to the whispering volume of Hermione's. "They were all killed, and the reporter said that the Muggle police have no idea how they died." Harry paused as both Hermione and Ron displayed knowing expressions. The fact that the Muggle authorities were completely stumped as to the murders did not surprise any of them. That fact alone, as a matter of fact, actually helped to confirm their suspicions as to the truth. Everyone present in the conversation knew exactly how Sean had been killed, though the Muggles, regardless of the fact that they were discovering more and more of these deaths, would never figure it out.

"Was he a Muggle-born?" muttered Ron.

"No," answered Harry, shaking his head in disagreement. "He was a half-blood. His dad was a wizard, a former Ravenclaw and the owner of that restaurant, M. Davis's, in London –" (Hermione and Ron nodded in understanding) – "but his mother was a Muggle."

Harry did not continue and neither Ron nor Hermione responded immediately to their friend's last statement. The Davis family had not been members of the Order, but neither were any of them Death Eaters. None of them had placed themselves on any particular side of the war; instead, Sean's family had decided to stay neutral, and his father's restaurant symbolized that feeling and decision perfectly. M. Davis's would have served Dumbledore just as easily as they would serve the Malfoys, or even Voldemort himself. But apparently, the Davis' viewpoint had not saved them from death in the end.

The Second War was beginning to get to the point where neutrality was simply not an option, and where there was little to no difference between a half-blood and a Muggle-born. Unless something happened to change it, both would be only good for death in Voldemort and the Death Eaters' view before very long. After a few more brief comments, the conversation finally steered away from the Ravenclaw's death. However, it did not leave the realm of the immense chaos caused by the war and the return of Voldemort, though Harry did not want to dwell on some of the war's aspects, and Azkaban was one of them.

"Did you see about Azkaban?" Ron asked, looking at both Hermione and Harry, trying to judge the reactions of his two best friends to the news.

Harry did not respond immediately. Instead, he just stared at the ground, not really wanting to discuss the great victory that Voldemort had recently achieved. However much he tried to find an up side to the turnover of the Wizarding prison, he couldn't. There was simply no getting around the knowledge that Azkaban's fall was a victory for the Dark. The fact that Voldemort just continued to gain power caused many emotions to flow through Harry, and he was not quite sure at the moment which one should have dominance. Hermione, on the other hand, did not remain silent, and quickly answered Ron's question.

"I did," she whispered. "I saw it in the _Daily Prophet_ this morning. It's horrible. I mean, all those Death Eaters free again, and who knows what happened to the Aurors. The Ministry doesn't have much hope for their survival, according to the paper."

"They're alive," muttered Harry, causing both his friends to focus their gazes on him at his sudden interruption. He had not meant to say anything on the subject, had planned on allowing the topic to end and the conversation to head somewhere else, but the two words had just slipped out before he could stop them. And now, as his friends stared at him, awaiting more information, Harry knew he would have to elaborate on his two words, but before he could continue, his friends got in first.

Ron was the first to get over his shock at Harry's statement and respond. "How do you know?" he asked. "They're Aurors, after all, and wouldn't Voldemort want to kill them?"

Harry sighed as he looked up from the ground and into the eyes of his two friends. "He would want to kill them, yes, but he would also want to torture them first," whispered Harry. "He wouldn't give them an easy death, and he would probably want to try to break them anyway.

"Besides, all of the Death Eaters who were in Azkaban are going to want some revenge," the Boy Who Lived continued, "and who better to take their anger out on than some Aurors, especially those who were guards at the prison?"

Neither Ron nor Hermione responded to Harry's question, for the question was simply one of those that did not need the answer spoken aloud. Everyone knew that Harry spoke the truth, and, though this particular truth made none of them happy or pleased, no one wished to argue with it. Any arguing done about the subject, after all, would only be dealing in lies and false truths, both of which were too reminiscent of Fudge for the trio to even consider immersing themselves in. The conversation slowly left the realm of Voldemort and the actions of the Death Eaters, making its way through a multitude of other topics, as the trio waited in the long line. When the choices of subjects began to dwindle down, Hermione brought up the conversation of Hogwarts once more.

"I read in the _Prophet_ that the Ministry is putting a lot of extra security measures in place at the school," she said. "Apparently, they're hoping that it will keep the students safe from anything like what happened last year."

"Yeah, well, Dumbledore put up a load more protection, and that didn't keep the Death Eaters out, now, did it?" asked Harry, his voice dripping with sarcasm and at the same time, betraying some of his bitter emotions towards anything relating to the Ministry and Dumbledore's death. "Why should the _Ministry's_ efforts be any better than his?"

Hermione, her mouth open to respond to Harry's statement, was not given the chance because no sooner had Harry finished talking, did the trio of Gryffindors finally reach the front of the line, standing on the other side of the Apparition Test Centre's front desk. Standing behind the tall, mahogany, and unprofessionally cluttered desk was a young, blond-haired witch who was slightly on the plump side. She wore long, bright, sky-blue robes that wrapped tightly around her large frame, making it look as if she had gotten a pair that was two sizes too small. A pair of jewelled spectacles (that were uncannily very much like the hideous pair that Rita Skeeter wore the last time that Harry had seen the reporter) sat atop the witch's round and piggish-looking nose. Glancing up from the roll of parchment on her desk, the witch turned her slightly pale face down to face the trio of friends.

"Name?" she said, her voice annoyingly high and perky, like she had consumed far too much caffeine (_or helium,_ Harry thought with a grin), as she turned her jewelled eyes to stare intently at Ron.

"Er, Ronald Weasley," he said, sounding slightly taken aback by the pitch and extreme alertness in the witch's voice.

The young witch gave a slight nod and looked down at some papers on her desk, her fingers rummaging through the piles so fast that it seemed impossible she was seeing every one of them, as she continued speaking to Ron. "State your age, and whether or not you have taken the Apparition Test previously."

"Seventeen," answered Ron, now expecting the witch's odd voice, "and I've taken it once before." The blond-haired witch never looked back up at Ron, instead simply motioning with her right hand towards a pair of high, double doors. "Please step through the doors, and there will be an Apparition instructor to your left," she said. "Follow him to take the test."

Ron turned to face his friends, a slightly nervous expression on his face, (which was now pale and displaying a slight, greenish tint), that displayed the anxiety he was feeling. Both Harry and Hermione gave him a reassuring smile. "You'll do fine, Ron," whispered Harry, grasping his friend's shoulder, and Hermione gave the redhead a quick hug. "Good luck," she said, stepping back from Ron as the latter followed the Apparition witch's instructions and exited through the pair of double doors, though not before turning his head around and giving his friends one last look.

Once Ron had barely gone beyond the doors, the blond witch turned her jewelled spectacles in Harry's direction.

"Name?" she said, her voice, having lost some of its previous perkiness, now sounding slightly bored with everything.

"Harry Potter," he said. A brief pause followed at Harry's answer as the witch quit rummaging through the rolls of parchment and looked up from her desk. She stared at him, her blue eyes widening slightly from behind her glasses and doing the familiar shift upward towards the lightning-bolt shaped scar on Harry's forehead. Though the frustration was evident in Harry's voice, he simply sighed, by now being used to people's reactions when he introduced himself, and waited for the witch to continue with her questions.

"State your age, Mr. Potter," she finally said, her voice now holding a hint of slight shock and awe, though the reasons why her tone changed escaped Harry, "and whether or not you have taken the Apparition Test previously."

"Sixteen," he answered, "and no, I've never taken it." The witch shuffled through some of the many papers lining her desk before revealing a long scroll. Untying the ribbon wrapped around the roll of parchment, the witch spread the entire scroll out before her.

"Because of your age, Mr. Potter," she said, "I have to ask when your birthday is."

A slight grin split Harry's face, though he had no idea why. "I'll be seventeen on 31 July," he replied, and after the witch, running her long-nailed finger down the lines, had scanned down the writing on the scroll, which Harry just noticed was stamped with the official seal of the Minister of Magic, she nodded.

"Very well, Mr. Potter," said the blond-haired witch and, turning those hideous jewelled spectacles in his direction and looking directly at him with her bright, blue eyes, continued. "You have been cleared to take the test." Raising her right hand, she motioned towards the doors just as she had for Ron. Giving a slight smile to Hermione, who returned it with her own grin, Harry, swallowing and suddenly very nervous, went through the doors to take his test.

Once the pair of doors had shut behind him, however, Harry entered a room that was far from what he had expected. He found himself in a dark and nearly empty room, with the only furnishings being a few old, spindly chairs – much like the one he remembered being in Ollivander's wand shop – that stood in a long row along the far left side wall. Harry felt odd at the unexpected environment, and he reached calmly towards his pocket, reassured by his wand's presence.

At first, Harry thought he was all alone, but he soon noticed the only other figure in the room. Down at the end of the row of chairs sat an older, bald man wearing tattered blue robes that basically hung off of his thin frame – a vast opposite of the witch's robes that had seemed far too small for the woman. The old man sat with his back to Harry at first, but as Harry looked at him, the man turned around to stare at the young wizard.

"Apparition Test?" the man asked, his low voice gruff and hoarse. Harry, his anxiety causing him to wrap his fingers around his wand in his pocket, nodded. The old man, rising from his chair with a creaking sound, limped across the room to another corridor, and Harry followed closely behind. From the corridor, Harry and the instructor went through the second door on their left, a simple, though slightly damaged, brown wooden door. Becoming slightly more nervous with the man and the intensely dark room, Harry grasped his wand tighter as he entered the spacious room beyond the door after the old man.

Harry felt his mouth drop open slightly at the sight that greeted him. The room had become an exact replica of Diagon Alley, or more correctly, a replica of how Diagon Alley _used_ to be, up until about a year ago. Everything was just how he remembered it being, even down to the sounds of owls and the smells of potion ingredients. All of the shops were still there, lined along the same twisting, cobble stone walkway. Quality Quidditch Supplies stood proudly to his left, the model of the gleaming Firebolt broomstick still being displayed smugly in the window. Flourish and Blotts had piles of books in their display window, with _Magical Mysteries: Volume XXI,_ situated right in the centre. Madam Malkins', meanwhile, showed the newest fashions in dress robes in their window: A blood-red coloured, high-collared pair of robes clothed the male mannequin, while the female mannequin bore an off-white, flowing pair. Bright, painted script shone out from the window of Florean Fortescue's Ice-Cream Parlour, the numerous tables still scattered around the entrance way of the shop.

Before Harry could take in more of the shops and the scenery, however, his attention was pulled abruptly back to the instructor as the old man spoke.

"All right," he said, clearing his throat, "your test is simple. Just Apparate first to Flourish and Blotts, then to Madam Malkins'. After Madam Malkins', Apparate to Ollivanders, which is just further down the street there, and finally, back here. At every location and attached to the front door, there will be a square card with a number, ranging from one to three, on it. Grab the card, and if you return here with all the cards and have done everything without screwing up or splinching yourself, you pass the test."

Once the man had finished talking, Harry looked at him for a moment. The old instructor did not offer any more instructions to Harry, instead just waving him on (though the action looked more like the instructor was trying to shoo away annoying flies). As the old man took out his wand, conjuring a mug of what appeared to be Firewhiskey, Harry knew he was not going to get any more directions from the man and simply nodded. He did as the man had said, Apparating to the three shops, grabbing the coloured and numbered cards from the doors, and arriving back to stand beside the instructor a few seconds later.

When Harry had arrived back at the beginning, the old man, having obviously consumed the Firewhiskey, was scribbling notes on a piece of parchment with a crinkled grey quill that he had apparently conjured strictly for the situation. "You passed," said the instructor, ripping the parchment in half and handing a strip of it to Harry, though at the same time not even looking up at him. "Take this to the witch seated at the desk," he said, "and she'll give you your license." A fit of coughing assaulted the old man as he motioned Harry towards the exit, which was on the opposite side of the room than from where he had entered from. Following the instructor's wave, he pushed the set of doors open and left the Apparition Test Centre, the man's coughs still echoing in his ears.

Immediately upon leaving the room, Harry heard Hermione's voice. "Did you pass?" she said as the doors closed behind Harry. He nodded and, grabbing his arm, she showed him which of the three witches at the desk he was supposed to give the results to. Ron was already in line, holding an identical strip of parchment as Harry had clutched in his hand. When Hermione and Harry approached behind him, he turned around, asking Harry the same question that Hermione had as soon as she had seen him.

"Did you pass?" said Ron, and Harry nodded as the witch finished up with the tall, black-haired girl who was in front of Ron.

"Next," said the witch, and Ron walked forward. This witch was far older than the one working on the other end of the Test Centre. While the first witch looked little more than nineteen-years-old, this witch looked near seventy. She had silvery grey hair that was pulled back into a bun tightly behind her head. Her lips were stretched thin across her mouth, giving her the distinct impression that she very rarely, if ever, smiled. She was quite thin and wore a dark green set of robes, and with her stern expression and straight-backed posture, the elder witch bore a striking resemblance to Professor McGonagall, though she still seemed far more hostile than the Head of Gryffindor House and new headmistress had ever appeared to Harry.

"Next," she said again as Ron stepped out of the way, this time clutching another square piece of parchment, the official license to legally Apparate. Harry stepped closer to the desk and handed his test results to the witch. She took them and, after scanning her dark brown eyes, which looked eerily like two small bugs, over the writing, picked up a quill and began to write out Harry's license, her hands moving at a speed that showed definite practice and skill. It was only a few seconds before the witch looked up to hand Harry the new piece of parchment, and, as Harry reached out his hand to take it, the witch's eyes, after glancing at the parchment once more, went towards his forehead like every single other person that he had met in his life. Harry simply sighed and, after grabbing the paper from the witch's extended hand, replied in a slightly annoyed voice. "Thank you," he said, turning away from her and leaving the Test Centre with Ron and Hermione.

After eventually making it to the long row of lifts, Harry, Ron, and Hermione entered one and, after it visited what felt like all of the floors in the entire Ministry of Magic _twice,_ the cool, female voice finally sounded around the lift with, "The Atrium." As the golden grilles slid open, Hermione, Ron, and Harry pushed their way out of the thick group of people on the lift and began to make their way through the massive crowds of witches and wizards in the Ministry. Even though it felt like the trio had been in the Ministry forever, the crowds had not thinned since the Gryffindors had arrived, almost three hours previously. If anything, there seemed to be even more witches and wizards in the building.

With a glance at each other and a loud sigh, the three friends took their places behind an old, grey-haired witch in the long line of people waiting to Disapparate. Hopefully, they would be back at The Burrow soon.

_Soon,_ thought Harry, giving a slight laugh as he looked at the many people in front of him and his friends. _Yeah, right._

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_Author's __Note__: Thanks for reading this fourth chapter, and stay tuned for Chapter V: _A Weasley Wedding_, in which the trio arrives at The Burrow, preparation continues for Bill and Fleur's marriage, and a surprise guest arrives. But will everyone make it through the day without any problems? You'll have to read to find out._

_Again, thanks for reading, and be sure to leave your opinion on this chapter, as well as on the story as a whole. This is my first on-going fan fiction work, so thoughts are appreciated._

_--ForeverSirius77 _


	5. Chapter V: Captured Crisis

_Disclaimer__: Anything you recognize does not belong to me, however much I wish that it did. Instead, it all belongs to J. K. Rowling. However, anything you do not recognize does belong to me._

_Summary__: A copy of the_ Evening Prophet _arrives, and its front-page story presents a crisis for Ministry officials who are desperately trying to keep the Wizarding World together and prevent it from succumbing to Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Darkness is at work once again, and sometimes being alive is not the best option for an enemy of the Death Eaters._

_Author's__ Note__: A big "Thank You" goes out to PirateQueen for being my beta on this. Please note that this chapter is rated __**R**__ for violence, gore, and implied sexual behaviour (though nothing explicit). Now, for your enjoyment, I present _"Captured Crisis,"_ the fifth chapter of_ Harry Potter and the Locked Door.

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**Harry Potter and the Locked Door**

**By ForeverSirius77  
**

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**Chapter V: Captured Crisis**

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A loud knock sounded on the simple wooden door, its sound causing the weary Minister for Magic to jerk awake from his self-imposed slumber. The past several months had, to put it simply, not been easy on the former Auror, and he was now trying to grab sleep wherever he possibly could. Rubbing his eyes quickly, in the hopes that he could erase the exhaustion, Rufus Scrimgeour mumbled out a reply to his guest.

"Come in," he said, his voice barely above the sound of a whisper.

The door slowly creaked open the moment that the words of entrance had left the Minister's mouth and in walked Percy Weasley, several papers held in stacks in his arms. He had a slight hesitancy in his step, which also transcended into his voice as he spoke.

"Minister?" he asked, shutting the door behind him before approaching his superior's desk. "Is this a bad time?"

If the Minister for Magic wanted to be perfectly honest with his employee, he would have gruffly replied that yes, this was a horrible time, but he did not. Doing so would not have been beneficial to anyone involved. So instead, Rufus Scrimgeour waved his hand in a toss-away manner, signalling that he did not care, and reached for his glasses that he had discarded before going to sleep. Placing them on his worn face, he glanced up at the Muggle clock that hung on the wall, saw that it read 6:47 in the evening, and sighed. He was already late for supper, and he would indeed be even later as he tried to finish up his work.

"What is so important, Weasley?" he said, his voice still hoarse, causing the weary man to reach for a glass of water. As the Minister drank, Percy prattled on about a bunch of little, mediocre matters that the different Ministry departments dealt with during the day. But after he finished regaling his boss with a report about a shipment of rabid flobberworms, the young wizard paused, though not as if he was finished speaking, but like he was trying to hide something back. The Minister had been an Auror long enough to tell the difference.

"What aren't you saying?" he asked. Percy responded by handing him one of the papers that he held in his hands.

It was a copy of the _Evening Prophet._ But it was unlike any issue that Rufus had ever seen. For, plastered right in the centre of the paper and taking up the entire front page were three large pictures, each pretty much identical to the others, save for the people involved. A humongous, bold headline glared out at the Minister as he stared at the paper.

**AURORS ALIVE!**

The first headline, though, was just slightly misleading. Below the two words that would sent hope and relief into the families of four individuals, were the words that would crush that hope, and in some cases, bring even more grief.

**THREE HELD CAPTIVE IN AZKABAN; ONE FATE UNCONFIRMED**

Rufus Scrimgeour held back a bitter reply that he knew would be unnecessary. Instead, his tired eyes locked onto the three pictures that held the front page of the Wizarding newspaper. On the far left side was a picture of Juan Rodriguez, followed by one of Dana Walsh. The chain was ended with a photograph of Roger Folan. Every one of them looked the same. They all had their hands bound, Roger with rope and Juan and Dana with chains, and they all looked injured and battle-worn. The setting was also identical in all three pictures --- a cell in Azkaban Prison.

Anger rose up in the Minister as he gazed at the pictures and scanned the article. He had worked with every one of the Aurors that had been in Azkaban when Voldemort had taken the prison, and to see them humiliated like this --- photographs of their torture littering the front page of the paper --- made him want to lash out at something, anything. As he scanned through the article below, the anger boiling inside of him intensified, especially as he read the final paragraphs.

_Sources that have communicated with the _Prophet _have confirmed that Dana Walsh, 26; Roger Folan, 34; and Juan Rodriguez, 31; are indeed alive in the Wizarding fortress. The fate of the fourth Auror on guard duty, Michelle Branch, 25; has yet to be confirmed._

_Our London office received word of this confirmation at 4:30 p.m., and within ten minutes was seeking statements from the Ministry of Magic. Both Minister for Magic Rufus Scrimgeour and Head of the Auror Office, Gawain Robards, declined to comment._

The frustration was apparent on Rufus's face as he glared up at Percy, his golden eyes burning. "What do they mean, we 'declined to comment'? Why wasn't I alerted to this development immediately, Weasley?" The Minister's voice was growing in volume, though it never quite reached what would be considered a shout.

"We . . . er . . . thought it best if . . . well . . ." muttered Percy, his voice eventually trailing off as he struggled to answer the Minister's inquiries. The truth was that they really had not thought about informing Rufus right after the news broke and the _Prophet_ was calling for statements. Cheryl Rosen, the Head of Magical Law Enforcement, had wanted to keep things quiet, and no one at the Ministry had thought that the story would be run in the _Evening Prophet._

"Never mind," said Scrimgeour as he rose from his desk, hurrying past Percy and out of his office. He walked briskly down the corridor, heading towards the main meeting chamber, Percy following behind him. Upon reaching the set of double doors that led into the chamber, the Minister, his hand on the doorknob, turned around to face his assistant.

"Find the Department Heads, as well as Robards, and tell them that I've called an emergency meeting," he said. "You have five minutes to get them all down here." And with that, Rufus Scrimgeour entered the meeting chamber and Percy Weasley ran off to summon the eight individuals.

----

Within four minutes, ten wizards and witches were gathered together, each one taking their seats around the oval table in the centre of the room. Minister Scrimgeour sat at the table's head and surveyed the other Ministry workers. To his left sat his assistant, Percy Weasley, who already had a quill, ink, and parchment out, ready to document the meeting. Next to him was Randal Croaker, an Unspeakable and the Head of the Department of Mysteries, a position he had held for over a decade. Obliviator Arnold Peasgood was reclined beside Croaker. Down here as the Head of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, the older gentlemen appeared quite bored as he drummed his fingers on the mahogany table. Amos Diggory, the Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, finished up the left side of table. Sitting at the other end and opposite the Minister was Gawain Robards, the Head of the Auror Office. Though not technically a Department Head, Robards had pretty much the same status as one.

Richard Smyth sat to Robards's left as the Head of International Magical Cooperation, a position he had achieved and maintained following Bartemius Crouch's sudden death around three years previously. Next came Madam Katherine Edgecomb, the Head of the Department of Magical Transportation. To her left was Julia Janison from the Quidditch Headquarters and the Head of Magical Games and Sports after Ludo Bagman's disappearance. To finish off the Ministry Department Heads was Cheryl Rosen, a member of the Wizengamot. She was the first one to speak.

"Well, Minister," she said, her voice characteristically harsh and cold, "I take it we're here about the _Prophet_." Amos and Julia glanced up at the Minister upon hearing these words, each with a look of confusion on their faces. Neither of them had received a copy of the _Prophet_, after all.

"Yes, Cheryl," replied Scrimgeour, almost at the same time as Julia broke in with, "What about the _Prophet_?" to which Richard Smyth slid a copy of the Wizarding paper over to his younger colleague, whose eyes widened in shock and horror. "The events in the paper are _exactly_ the reason for this meeting."

"If I may speak, Minister," interrupted Arnold, who leaned forwards in his chair. "You say that we are meeting concerning these pictures," he said, pointing towards the sole copy of the paper on the table. "But what, exactly, are you proposing that we do? Surely, you are not contemplating a raid on the prison to rescue these three individuals."

No one spoke in response to the Obliviator's statements right away, but Cheryl Rosen did not wait too long before she had her say.

"Before any rescue plans are put into place, Arnold," she said, "a lot of preparation has to be done. I'm sure this meeting is just in regards to the press spilling secret and sensitive material to the public without Ministry comment." The forty-six-year-old witch turned towards Scrimgeour. "Am I correct in assuming as much, Minister?" she said.

Her voice jerked Rufus from his trance, bringing his focus back on the meeting. "Yes," he muttered, rubbing his eyes fiercely as he spoke. "You're right, Cheryl. Rescue plans will have to wait; for now, we need to issue a statement, any statement, concerning these reports." He turned and looked at everyone seated at the table. "Do we know that everything reported here in this article is fact?" he asked.

"Unfortunately, Minister, we do," replied Robards. "Walsh, Folan, and Rodriguez are, indeed, alive, but as for Branch, no one has heard anything. She could be alive, like the others, or she could be dead. We have nothing else to go on."

Scrimgeour nodded and turned towards Percy. The younger wizard had a few ink spots on his fingertips from when he had dipped the quill. "Weasley," he said, "write out a quick, brief statement concerning these events," (he motioned towards the copy of the _Evening Prophet_), "and then send out notices to any reporter you can. It's time that they actually had Ministry comments to print."

With that said, the Minister rose from his seat and exited the meeting room, heading back up to his office as he did so. His exit was soon copied by the other Department Heads, each hurrying back to whatever they had left behind when Percy had fetched them for the meeting. Cheryl Rosen was the last person to leave the meeting room, but before she shut the doors behind her, the witch glanced back at the paper sitting on the table, her eyes locking on the three pictures of the captured Aurors.

_I hope they're all right,_ she thought.

----

The final rays of a setting sun shone down through a high, barred window of a prison cell, lighting up the room below. The golden light revealed the cold, straw-covered stones that made up the floor of the high-security cell, as well as reflecting off of the iron bars that encaged the prisoner.

Most of the time, the prisoners could be seen pacing back and forth across the small cell that they called home for the present. Their minds drove them to madness, a feeling that was also spurred along by the silence that reverberated around the cells. Many had sought to claw their eyes and brains out just to have something to do other than sit or pace. When prisoners had approached this point was usually when the talking and mumbling started. Those trapped in the cells would give physical voice to their thoughts and memories, just so as to have something outwardly noticeable to interact with. There was always action going on inside the cell.

But things were different this time. Most of the cells were now empty, where just yesterday they had been filled to maximum allowance. The mumblings and pacing of prisoners had stopped, and the prison had been plunged into an unearthly and eerie silence, one that pierced people to the core and sent shivers up one's spine. Basically, the fortress seemed dead.

That was not true, though. And the fading sun had proof that the prison had not died. The sun's rays illuminated the cell enough to reveal the bound and bleeding body of a young witch, a young witch who was just starting to awaken from her slumber.

Dana Walsh struggled to open her dark brown eyes, though even that small amount of action seemed to hurt her. Her head was pounding in agony, but she fought against the pain, at least long enough to sit up, and pushed herself up against the cold stone wall below the barred window, using the stones to support her. She gasped and hissed as intense pain shot up her arms from her wrists, and looking down, Dana discovered the cause.

The skin on her wrists was burned to the point that they were basically raw. Every slight movement of her hands sent another wave of agony up her arms, causing tears of pain to fall down her face. The salty liquid mixed with the dried blood on Dana's face as well, and both fell to the ground, where it joined more blood and rain water.

_Concentrate, Dana,_ she thought as she tried to calm her breathing and heart rate, which had intensified as she gazed around the small cell, her memories of all of the previous night's events finally returning to her in full. Breathing was difficult, and each breath caused agony to rip in her chest, making her feel like she was inhaling fire. Her throat had also been worn raw, and she had the coppery taste of blood dwelling in her mouth.

_Bruised and/or broken ribs, burned wrists, torn throat, and other miscellaneous cuts and gashes,_ Dana thought, listing off her injuries one by one as she fully discovered them. The blood from most of her cuts had stopped flowing, especially from those on her face and forehead, and the fog in her mind was clearing, allowing her to gather her thoughts.

Before Dana could do much thinking, however, the sound of footsteps approaching echoed throughout the corridor, and they were quickly followed by two voices.

"Hurry up," muttered a female voice, and Dana instantly felt her body grow rigid with fear. She knew that voice, and the very sound of it sent shivers up the young witch's spine.

"I'm coming," replied a deeper, male voice, but this one was unrecognizable to Dana. That fact did not really matter, however, because anyone that was willingly accompanying _her_ would not be a friend to the Auror. Glancing towards her barred door, Dana saw the shadows of the two Death Eaters approach and, not wanting them to torment her, she feigned unconsciousness, hoping that they would both leave.

Bellatrix was the first to come clearly into sight, and she was followed by the second Death Eater, who seemed to be burdened down with something, like a heavy package of some sort. It was not until he came fully into the light of the fading sun that Dana was able to tell that the 'package' was actually a body . . . a very limp and unmoving body.

"Just throw him in here," said Bellatrix, motioning towards the cell on Dana's right. "It's not like he's in any position to get away." The doors to the cell creaked open, the sound echoing around along the corridor, and it was quickly followed by a _thump_ as the two Dark followers dropped the body unceremoniously to the stone floor. Slamming the bars shut behind them, Bellatrix and her fellow Death Eater left the corridor, strolling right past Dana's cell without so much as a glance towards her.

For a moment, Dana did not move; instead, she remained perfectly still, listening for any sound from either her fellow prisoner next door or any other Death Eaters. No noises were heard, however, and so Dana began to make her way towards the bars on her cell, gasping in pain at every sudden movement that sent a new, fresh wave of agony through her frail body. _Just a little bit further,_ she thought as she crawled along the floor. The chains that bound her wrists to the stone walls were luckily able to reach across the length of her cell. Finally, after much struggling and pain, Dana made it to the bars.

As she reached up to touch them, however, the young witch received a major shock . . . literally. The moment that her fingers grazed across the cool metal bars, a harsh, fiery shock shot up her arm and vibrated through her body, sending her flying backwards across the distance of her cell. A small scream escaped her lips as she slammed into the back wall, her head banging off of the stone, and lost consciousness.

----

The sound of a scream forced Juan Rodriguez awake, and his eyes jerked open in horror. For the briefest of moments, he thought he was back with _them,_ but as his gaze took in the stone walls of his solitary cell, he exhaled a slight sigh of relief. As he breathed, however, his body shook in extreme pain and, with a fearful look on his dark face, the Spanish Auror looked down, seeing his injuries in full for the first time.

His right arm was clearly broken, as he could see the white tip of the bone jutting out through the skin, and his left shoulder screamed in agony with even the slightest movement. Several broken ribs caused his breathing to send waves of agony through his body with every breath, and his hair was caked to his face with a mixture of blood, dirt, and sweat. Juan's ragged and dirty shirt had also become soaked through with his own blood that was still flowing from several of the whip lashes on his back. His arms, chest, and face were covered in large bruises made mostly from heavy pairs of boots that had kicked at him within the past couple of hours. Even the simple action of blinking his eyes caused Juan pain, due to the extensive bruises dotting his face.

Juan shut his eyes for a brief moment, willing the sleep to come back and take him, but it did not work. Rather than receive the welcome comfort of unconsciousness, all Juan saw were the memories of his torture replaying themselves over and over in his mind.

For hours, Juan had been beaten, cursed, threatened, and abused by just about every Death Eater currently in Azkaban. It had started out with a few castings of the Cruciatus Curse, but the torture session soon evolved into much more than that. Before long, Juan was experiencing Muggle forms of torture with a few magical twists. Fiery whips lashed out at his suspended body, creating numerous gashes on his chest and back. Potions had also been shoved down his throat, each one sending a different wave of agony through his body or causing some other type of effect --- blindness, deafness, hallucinations, spasms, seizures --- whatever one could possibly imagine. Even basic Muggle assaults such as beating and kicking did not seem to be considered too low for some of his torturers.

Juan's mind, however, did not dwell on his body's pain. Instead, it focussed on the sound of the other person in the neighbouring cell, the one whose scream had awoken the Spanish man in the first place. Struggling through the pain, as well as fighting the difficulty of moving with both wrists bound together, Juan slowly made his way over to the wall that his cell shared with the other prisoner's. When he had finally made it, Juan slumped against the stone wall, breathing in exhaustion regardless of the pain.

As he slumped further down along the wall, his fingers discovered a single spot that felt different than the rest of the stone structure. Looking down, Juan saw the small area where there was a hole in the wall, a hole that was surrounded by tiny, loose rocks. The sight of the hole seemed to light a fire inside him, for on the other side was a companion, someone that he could talk with. The fire spurred him on as he widened the hole, throwing the loose rocks aside with his bound hands.

After several minutes of wiggling rocks free, Juan had uncovered a hole that was large enough to fit an average human fist through. He manoeuvred himself so that he was able to lie down comfortably on the ground and peer through the hole to the other side. The sight that greeted his eyes, however, was not exactly what he had expected.

Sprawled out below the high barred window was Dana Walsh, unconscious, with blood flowing from a newly created gash on her head. Her breathing was slow and shallow, the slight rise and fall of her chest worrying Juan rather than comforting him. She looked too close to death, in his opinion.

"Dana," he whispered, though his voice came out more as a groan of pain than an actual word. Taking a quick swallow, though the action burned his raw throat, he tried again. "Dana . . . wake up, Dana," he muttered. He breathed a sigh of relief as his friend started to stir.

----

Dana awoke to the sound of her name being muttered, though at first she thought it was still a part of a dream, as it sounded like it came from very far away. Opening her eyes slowly, she scanned around her cell, giving a slight jump as she looked over at the right wall.

There were fingers wiggling through a hole in the stone wall, and a voice accompanied them . . . a voice that she recognised and was incredibly glad to hear.

"Dana," muttered Juan.

She tried to reply, but at first it only came out as a strangled, "I'm here," the volume of her torn voice barely loud enough to reach her own ears, much less across the cell. She cleared her throat and tried again.

"I'm here, Juan," she said. "I'm okay . . ."

"Está bien, Dana," he answered, the joy he felt at hearing her voice, proving that she was alive, evident in his voice. "Está bien . . ."

The two Aurors slipped into brief conversations, their sentences short so as not to cause too much pain from speaking. "Are you hurt?" asked Juan, worry lining his tone.

"Not too much," answered Dana. "Just some broken ribs and a few other cuts. What about you, Juan?"

The Spanish Auror did not respond right away, and Dana could already tell the hesitancy in his answer. "Same here," he said, but she knew that he was lying. The pain was evident in his voice.

"You're lying," she said, expecting him to deny it, but he didn't.

"You're right; I am."

"Are you going to tell me the truth, Juan?" she asked, her voice sounding slightly choked up as she spoke, but he did not answer her. "Did they try to break you?" Dana whispered, the tone of her voice tinged with fear.

She heard Juan sigh from his cell, and she knew that she had the answer. Whether he would admit it to her or not, Dana knew now that her friend and co-worker had indeed been tortured.

"They threatened Josephina," he muttered. "Said they would kill her if I didn't give in."

"What else?" she asked, knowing full well that Juan was not sharing everything with her. "Juan," she continued when he did not answer. "What else is there, Juan?"

"He was there," the Auror mumbled from his cell, his voice barely louder than that of a frail whisper, but Dana was able to catch every word. Those three words sent more fear travelling through Dana than anything else she had ever encountered. _Voldemort had been there. Voldemort had tortured her friend._

"Juan ---" Dana had started to speak, but her voice was immediately cut off as her blood froze in her veins, her mind fogging over and screams echoing in her head. The Dementor approached her cell and dwelled right outside the barred door, its rattling breath sending waves of terror coursing through her body.

_"What about the fourth, My Lord?"_

_"She's dead." . . ._

_"Good-bye, Danielle," said Dana, hugging her younger sister close to her. "Stay with Biannca, she'll take care of you." Danielle cried as she held her older sister close. She'd already lost her brother, and now Dana was having to leave her sister, too._

_"I don't want to go!" screamed Danielle._

_"You have to ---"_

_"I HATE YOU!" . . ._

_David, his lifeless body covered and lying in a pool of his own blood, stared up at Dana with dead and terror-filled eyes. . . ._

"No," muttered Dana. The Dementor finally left her and Juan alone. Once her mind had cleared of the fog left by the dark creature, she could hear the intense gasping for breath that came from Juan's cell. "Juan?" she asked, calling out for her friend. "Juan, answer me."

It was a few moments before she received a reply. "Yeah, Dana," he sighed, "I'm fine."

_No, you're not fine,_ she thought, but she decided not to voice the matter this time. Instead, she directed the conversation down a different path.

"Juan," she said, "did you see Roger?"

----

The rays of a dying sun were again the only means of light that illuminated the dark and pain-filled chamber where the third Auror was located. Roger Folan, his arms bound tightly together and suspended over his head, stood alone in the room, gasping for breath. His bloodied and dirty shirt lay crumpled in a pile at his feet, while bruises covered his bare, sweat-glistened chest and blood flowed from freshly-applied whip lashes on his back. Blood still covered his pale face, but it had dried hard by now and was no longer flowing from the large gash across his face.

The physical pain that Roger was in, however, barely compared to the mental anguish that he had just gone through with the Death Eaters. Like Juan, he had been forced to drink dozens of potions, each concoction giving the Auror the most horrific hallucinations that one could think about. Sights of Roger's family contorted and suffering, writhing under the wands of hundreds of tormenters, still swam strongly in his mind, an after effect of one of the nasty and violent potions.

He shook his head slightly, trying to clear away the images, but stopped moving when the door to the room swung open, banging against the wall as it completed its opening. A slight feeling of fear gripped Roger for the briefest of moments, but then it left when he realised that the Death Eater was alone. It would not be like last time.

Roger watched the Death Eater approach him, the figure's outline clearly feminine. The fear returned to Roger as the thought of Bellatrix Lestrange entered into his mind, but it was an idea that was soon dismissed. He had seen Bellatrix before, and the woman in front of him was definitely not her.

The woman walked right up to Roger, her wand never rising from its loose position at her side. She did not seem like she was preparing to torture him, but Roger braced himself for the pain regardless. The action, though, was unnecessary. She did not raise her wand, though she stood right in front of the bound and tortured Auror, but instead, she lifted her pale hands and gently slid the white mask from her face, lowering her hood at the same time, revealing pale skin and long, luscious locks of thick black hair as she did so. Recognition dawned on Roger's face as he met the female Death Eater's dark gaze.

"Selena?" he asked, but the name barely had time to pass his lips before the Death Eater had her lips pressed against his, silencing all speech and thought from him in an intense kiss. She ran her hands passionately through his long, blond hair, wrapping her arms around his neck and then down his sweat and blood covered chest. Her tongue sought entrance into his mouth, but Roger soon jolted back to the present reality, pulling back as far from the Death Eater as he could.

"What are you doing, Selena?" She did not answer in words, instead pressing her lips to his once more. The passion between them did not go far, however. "Selena ---"

"Just give in, Roger," muttered Selena Rosa, her voice whispering into Roger's ear. "The Dark Lord is generous; he'll be merciful to you if you don't fight . . ."

"Rosa!" shouted Roger as he pulled as far away from her as his position would allow him to do. He locked his intense blue gaze with the woman before him, trying desperately to see why she was acting in the manner that she was. He had known her for years; Selena had been his partner in the Aurors up until a few months ago when she disappeared during a raid and was presumed dead. _This isn't Selena,_ he thought. _She has to be under the Imperius Curse or something._

"What's gotten into you, Selena?" he whispered, the answer escaping him. "Why are you acting like this? What are you doing here? I thought you were dead." The questions and statements just kept coming from Roger, but Selena never answered a single one of them. For, no sooner had Roger paused in his assault of inquiries did the single door to the chamber bang open once more, revealing Bellatrix standing in the doorway. Without warning, she raised her wand and pointed it at Roger.

_"Crucio!"_ she shouted. The spell hit the bound Auror directly in his chest, catching him unawares, and caused him to emit a scream as the pain tore through his body, which was also jerking in the bonds. The curse did not last very long, however.

Selena twirled around to face Bellatrix, her wand raised, and muttered a spell that sent the Death Eater hurling out of the room and into the corridor beyond, thus breaking the spell on Roger. "He's my Auror," hissed Selena as she glared down at Bellatrix, who was in the process of rising from the floor. She had her wand pointed at Selena, an Unforgivable Curse on her lips, but was not given the chance to utter the incantation.

"Cease, Bella," said a high, cold voice from the corridor. At the sound of the voice, both Bellatrix and Selena lowered their wands. Bellatrix nodded her head in deference, following her Master into the room.

Roger's entire body tensed up in terror as his eyes met Voldemort's for the first time in his life. Though he had been an Auror for several years, he had never faced a wizard so feared as the one standing in front of him right then. Adjectives did not exist in any language that could adequately describe the feelings coursing through Roger's body as Voldemort came even closer towards him. He wanted so badly to run, flee, hide, anything but to stay where he was and be in the same room with this fearsome wizard. He had lost all sense of his surroundings as well. Nothing mattered to him, nothing entered his mind but the fact that Voldemort was there, and he was feeling more terror than he would have thought it possible for man to feel.

"My Lord, I beg your forgiveness," said Selena, her words seeming to break the spell that Voldemort's presence had cast over Roger. Voldemort, however, did not pay any attention to the now kneeling Death Eater at his feet. His scarlet-coloured gaze and attention was instead focussed on Roger.

Though his mind and body were terrified, Roger could not keep his eyes from gleaming in a combination of hatred and defiance. He knew that he feared the Dark wizard in front of him, but he also knew that he hated him. Voldemort and his Death Eaters had destroyed so many things that he loved and taken so much from him, it was impossible for Roger to completely forgo those feelings and leave only fear and terror.

Voldemort, however, did not seem to care what feelings or emotions were running through Roger at the moment. He walked right up to the bound, bleeding Auror and locked his powerful gaze with him. "Will you serve me?" he said, the words of which sent a feeling of surprise through Roger. The combination of this, with shock and defiant hatred kept Roger from answering. Voldemort, though, wasted no time on any merciful niceties.

_"Crucio,"_ he said.

Unlike Bellatrix's spell, Roger was prepared and had braced himself for the Cruciatus Curse this time around. The result was not a decrease in the pain, but rather he was able to fight the screaming, keeping the noise held within himself and only allowing a slight grunting, moaning noise to escape his control. Voldemort waved his wand after a short time, though, and lifted the curse.

"Will you serve me?" he said, his tone of voice making it perfectly clear that Voldemort did not really consider the statement to be a question worthy of any other answer but one. Roger, though, thought differently.

"No," he hissed. His body still shaking from the effects of the Cruciatus Curse, Roger summoned as much defiance as he could find in himself, forcing the feelings of terror down as far as he could at the same time, and spat at Voldemort.

Voldemort simply glared at the bound Auror, his expression unreadable, though at the same time, terrifying. With a quick, fluid motion, Voldemort waved his wand and a loud _crack_ echoed around the torture chamber, followed quickly by Roger's screams of pain as he felt his right arm break cleanly in two, the bone breaking through the skin and blood flowing magnificently down his arm. The screams increased as Voldemort left Roger with another dose of the Cruciatus as a parting gift.

"Selena," hissed Voldemort as he stood in the doorway, looking over his shoulder at the still kneeling figure of the former Auror, now Death Eater next to Roger's screaming, writhing, and bleeding form. She rose quickly from her position, following her Master's orders to leave the room, but not before she had glanced back at Roger one more time. Bellatrix, however, was still present.

"Break him, Bella," said Voldemort, turning to his loyal servant, who raised her dark head to meet the Dark Lord's gaze. "Break him, but don't kill him." And with that, Voldemort left the torture chamber, leaving Bellatrix and Roger alone.

Once her Master was out of sight, Bellatrix entered further into the dimly-lit room, an ecstatic and maniacal grin on her pale face as she looked over Roger's slumped form, supported as it was by the chains that bound him to the ceiling in a standing position. He was gasping for breath, trying desperately to regain strength after the last assault. He did, however, spare a brief moment to look up at Bellatrix and, though he tried to hide it, Roger's face showed his fear of the torture that he knew was coming.

Bellatrix turned away from her toy Auror to shut the door. As the thin strip of light started to disappear from beyond the corridor, the room slowly descended into complete, vast darkness.

"It's time to play," said Bellatrix. The door finally clanged shut and with a _click,_ was locked into place.

* * *

_Author's __Note__: First off, I want to apologise for the wait. Real life really interfered, and to top everything off, this chapter was one of the hardest things I've ever written, what with being plagued with a major dose of writer's block for the entire writing of it. Regardless, I can promise, like always, that the story will be finished, and it will never be abandoned._

_Thanks for reading this fifth chapter, and stay tuned for Chapter VI: _A Weasley Wedding_, in which the trio arrives at The Burrow, preparation continues for Bill and Fleur's marriage, and a surprise guest arrives. But will everyone make it through the day without any problems? You'll have to read to find out. (Yes, I know this was originally supposed to be Chapter V, but it just didn't work out that way in the end. So, look for the wedding and other events in the next chapter!)_

_Some thanks also goes out to the Gryffindors of MuggleNet Fan Fiction, who assisted me in figuring out a title for this chapter. (Months of working on the chapter, and a title idea still hadn't arrived.) Also, be sure to check out my LJ or Yahoo! Group for information on stories, videos, etc. (The link to the LJ is on my profile, and there's a link to the group from the LJ.)_

_--ForeverSirius77  
_


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